Climbing Kanchenjunga
by EstellaB
Summary: Between them, the Swallows, Amazons and Scarabs can boast two naval captains, a newlywed couple, a published authoress, two beautiful socialites, and a lazy teenager. Their adventures in the world of adults are here narrated for your enjoyment.
1. Prologue: Dramatis Personae

_I removed Chapter One. I didn't think it added anything to the story. Instead, I present... __**Dramatis Personae**__. Any anachronisms I ask you to please tolerate; I began this story when I was about fourteen, and I can't seem to make it any different now. These facts are fixed in my head. Some of the ages you may quibble with; however, it's practically impossible to be sure of anyone's age in Ransome (apart from Roger's, in S&A), and the two dates he does give are opposed to each other. I have used a little artistic license and set this story in **1938**, at which point I am well aware they would really have been slightly younger in Ransome's universe. Bear with me? _

_**Major Characters:**_

**Capt. Nancy Blackett: **Twenty-four and a half at the start of the story. First woman accepted into the Navy proper, and subsequently Captain of an Africa-bound ship. At the start of the story, on leave after her first time in command. Recently recovered from a nasty tangle with malaria, and was given an extended leave period as a result, but nobody knows that. Except perhaps **Titty.**

**Capt. John Walker: **Twenty-four at the start of the story. Also a Captain in the Navy, though for longer than **Nancy**. A graduate of the RNC (Royal Naval College). On shore leave at the start of the story, and had flown back for his sister's wedding.

**Dorothea Callum: **Aged nearly nineteen at the start of the story.A published writer and jobbing actress, with no set home-moves between the Lakes, London and Horning.

**Roger Walker: **A general layabout at the start of the story, always about to join the RAF. Just turned eighteen.

**Dr. Thomas Dudgeon: **Twenty-three at the start of the story. Shares the responsibilities of being the village doctor with his father (as Tom is only recently qualified and not experienced enough to break out on his own).

**Titty Walker: **Only Titty Walker for very little time; marries **Dick Callum **shortly into the third chapter. Twenty at the start of the story. Recently bailed out of a German prison by her future husband. An artist and occasional poet.

**Dick Callum: **Nearly twenty at the start of the story. Marries **Titty**. Researching the properties of the electron.

**Susan Walker: **A socialite to the nth degree; spends most of her time at a flat in London, which she shares with **Peggy Blackett. **Twenty-two at the start of the story.

**Peggy Blackett: **Twenty-three at the start of the story. A lady of leisure and occasional French tutor. Shares a London flat with **Susan**.

_**Minor Characters:**_

**Port and Starboard: **Twenty at start of story. Stayed in Paris for a year after school, returning to Horning after that. Training to become professional boat-racers.

**Joe and Bill: **Both twenty-two at start of story, and boat-builders. Joe is based in Potter Heigham; Bill is still in Horning.

**Pete: **Twenty and a half at start of story. A boat-builder, but photographer as a sideline. Horning-based.

**Phillip Dudgeon: **Younger brother to **Tom, **formerly known as "our baby". However, since he is eleven at the start of the story, this title would no longer be appropriate. Attends the local school.

**Bridget Walker: **Younger sister to **John, Susan and Titty. **Attends a prestigious girls' school in Cambridge; however, is present in the first few chapters because of her sister's wedding. Aged twelve at the start of the story.

_Of course, there are other characters; however, these are predominantly natives, and will be introduced as needed. For the purposes of telling this history, Dick and Titty will not be considered natives, despite their marital status._


	2. Dying To Try

_Incompatible-_

_It don't matter though,_

'_Cause someone's bound to hear my cry_

_Speak out if you do_

_You're not easy to find_

* * *

Hello, Mother," John said, bending down to kiss his mother on the cheek. "Hello, Bridgie," he continued as he picked up his youngest sister and swung her around. "You are getting altogether too old for that sort of behaviour, sprout," he told her, grinning. For a minute he had forgotten that she was nearly thirteen. "Where's everyone else? Oh, by the way, Nancy's come over. You don't mind giving her a bite to eat, do you? Anyway, where are they? As far as I can tell, there ought to be at least two other Walkers, possibly three, and a pair of Callums around here somewhere. It's time that we left for Wild Cat, anyway. I know Su and Roj aren't coming with us, but Titty and Dick are." He paused, and Bridget laughed.

"You can tell that he's been spending a lot of time with you recently, Cap'n Nancy. He keeps forgetting to pause for breath in between rapid monologues," Bridget said, giving the Amazon Captain her best grin. Bridget was a little prone to hero-worship Nancy.

"I've not quite as bad as Nancy just yet, thank you, Bridget. And you haven't answered my question. Where are they?"

"Roger is hiding from Dot-in the boathouse, I believe. She's hiding from him, as well. She's in my room. Really, what are we going to do with those two? Susan is in the kitchen. Titty and Dick are discussing wedding-y things, on Darien. I was with them, but I began to get sick of all the sugar, so I turned back before I turned to a bar of chocolate. I do like it when you have leave at the same time as me, you know. Can I come to Wild Cat with you?"

"If Mother says you may," John said, smiling. "Nancy, could you go and get Titty and Dick from Darien? I want to say hello to Su. Meet you in the boathouse in an hour?" John asked.

"Aye-aye, Sir," Nancy replied, returning his smile. "And Bridgie..."

"Bridget, Sir."

"And Bridget...you go find Roger and Dot, and convince them to talk to each other," she grinned. She turned smartly on her heel and walked briskly out of the door, followed by John.

"Aye-aye, Sir!" Bridget called after them.

"Nicely done, Nancy," John congratulated his friend as they walked out towards the kitchen. "Now, you go sort out that ridiculous sister of mine and her lover, and I'll find my yet more ridiculous sister, and calm her down about whatever she's upset about now. By the way, you should expect Peggy to start hysterics soon. They're rather fashionable at the moment." Nancy looked sharply at him at the

mention of her sister; however, he didn't look any different to a moment before. She could not read his expression.

"John? May I ask you something...personal?"

"My consent, or lack thereof, has never stopped you before," he replied, smiling to himself.

"Are you in love with my sister?"

He stared at her. "Me…in love…with _Peggy_? Good heavens, no!"

"Good. My mother seems to think you are, and you don't fit her exactly."

He raised an eyebrow. "She's _your_ sister, you know."

"And I think that you'd make a great brother-in-law. However, the only two ways that I could possibly have you as one is if you married Peggy, or I married _Roger_."

He laughed. "And why are you so averse to marrying my brother?"

"Marry _Roger_? That's a terrible thing to say! I'm six years his senior, for a start. He's much better off with Dot. Now, the other thing that I wanted to ask you," she broke off, and paused for a moment. She studied John's face carefully, so that she could notice any sudden changes in it. "Now, this is yet more personal, and I don't have any right to ask you this time. I can't claim that it is in protection of my sister, you see." He shot her a baffled look. "I wanted to ask you...Are you in love with someone else? Someone who isn't Peggy? She thinks that you are."

"No, Nance-I'm not in love with anyone else. I don't think so, anyway..." He smiled at her, and for a brief instant, she caught a flash of something odd, but not exactly unpleasant, in his familiar face. In an instant it was gone, and he was the same old John that she had known since her teens. "What about you? How is dear old Squashy?"

Nancy looked at him in shock, a little hurt that John could possibly think she reciprocated Timothy's unwelcome feelings. She could not stop the blood rushing into her face, and she stalked away.

* * *

_Incompatible-_

_It don't matter though,_

'_Cause someone's bound to hear my cry_

_Speak out if you do_

_You're not easy to find_

_Is it possible Mr Loveable_

_Is already in my life?_

_Right in front of me-_

_Or maybe you're in disguise._

* * *

**Lyrics in this chapter taken from Natasha Bedingfield's **_**Soulmate. **_**Rewritten (again) Dec 09.**


	3. Honey, I'm Still Free

_I tell you something that you never ever had_

_When I stop and think about you, it makes me laugh_

_You took me by surprise, saw it in your eyes-_

_I never had a chance, girl._

* * *

"John?"

John was startled out of his reverie. Being back on Wild Cat had brought back an abundance of memories. "Yes, Bridget?" He glanced down at his younger sister, who was wearing her best "I'm-about-to-say-something-you-won't-like," face.

"You're staring at Nancy again."

"Actually, Bridget, I was looking at that boat out there on the lake. The one with the brown sail. She looks like Swallow. Nancy isn't even in my field of view; I've no idea where she is," John replied with a laugh, indicating the little ship in question. Bridget was very apt to make something out of nothing (much as Titty had been at her age, he remembered). "And what do you mean, again?"

"Oh...just that you stared at Nancy _all the way here._"

"I was talking to her. And staring isn't in my line, by the way. That's more Roger's thing. Watch him with Dot, and you'll find yourself a proper romance to coo about."

Bridget paused, disappointed. She had hoped to startle her big brother into a blush, but either he had had a good deal of practice at hiding his emotions, or he was telling the truth. She said something that sounded like "Denial is not a river in Egypt," but her heart wasn't in it, and she ran off.

"I heard that whole conversation, you know," a voice announced from the trees.

"Hello, Titty," John replied. "I meant what I said."

"I know you do, now," Titty replied cheerfully, swinging herself down out of the tree and sitting next to John. "But you can't deny that when I first came back, I thought we were losing you the way we've lost Roj."

"Well, you didn't."

"Why was that?" Titty would never have asked her remote older brother intensely personal questions like these a year ago, but her return from a mysterious near-tragedy in Europe, along with their father's death about five months ago, had brought the pair very close together.

"Because..." John glanced at Titty, and decided that she deserved a full answer. "Because just when my feelings were going to get serious, Squashy started hanging round her. I just chose to back off. I hadn't fallen in love with her, though admittedly it was on its way. But honestly, of course it was hard to start with, but it's all gone away and died a death now." He paused. Poor choice of words. "Trust Bridget to only twig when it was all over."

Titty laughed. "Our Bridgie's going to grow up to be another version of Nancy, you know."

"To strike fear into the hearts of any and all passing adults, and young men of her age?"

"I was thinking more of her having a long and irritating string of young men in love with her, but I take your point," Titty replied.

"Speaking of young men in love, what have you done with your fiancé?" John asked.

"Oh, he's having last-minute nerves," she replied airily.

"Dick spoke to _you _about last-minute nerves?" John asked, incredulous. He wasn't experienced in that sort of thing but he was sure that went against all the unspoken rules of love.

"Of course not, silly, he doesn't even really know he's having them himself. I was on my way to find him when I overheard you and Bridgie. I'm off now."

It was past sunset when John eventually collected his thoughts and stood up. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the island population at large: "Everybody, TIME TO GO!" Being friends with Nancy all these years had taught him a thing or two about being heard, and within twenty minutes his friends were assembled in front of him. "Right, everyone," he continued at a more normal volume. "Bridget, this time you are going with Dick and Titty in _Scarab II_. I'm going to go with Nancy in _Emmeline._" Bridget opened her mouth to make a sarcastic comment about this, but instantly received a series of frowns from her elders, and closed it abruptly.

A very few minutes later, John and Nancy were afloat, and listening with much amusement to Bridget's disgusted complaint of "Do you have to be _fluffy_ in front of me?"

"They've got something very special," Nancy commented after a minute, a soft and un-Nancy-ish smile on her face.

"They have," John agreed. He took stock of the smile on Nancy's face, and grinned himself. "When are you and Squashy getting married then?"

"We aren't even engaged, John, and we aren't ever going to be." Nancy had all but given up getting John to see that the affection was one-sided. "Last time I looked, this wasn't the Dark Ages, and nobody can force me into any marriages that I don't want to take part in."

"I'd like to see someone try it," John replied with a smile. "Though I would feel it my duty to make sure a doctor was on hand first." He paused, and processed what Nancy had just said. "You don't want to marry Timothy?"

"I'd rather stay single all my life, thankyou very much." Nancy shuddered. "I don't want to spend my whole life tethered to a wet dishrag, you know."

"Harsh words." John was feeling a deep sense of regret at having smothered his feelings for Nancy. There was no sense of joy that Nancy was unattached; he had had his chance and missed it, and now he would probably have to wait years for the right girl to come along. Presuming, of course, that one day she would.

* * *

_Never been afraid of love till I met you_

_Never thought a girl could make me feel the way you do._

* * *

**Rewritten 14/04/08.**

**Rewritten (again) Dec 09. Title taken from **_**Take a Chance on Me **_**by Abba. Lyrics taken from **_**Afraid of Love **_**by Toto (one of my favourite songs ever ever ever, in case you were wondering about that...)**


	4. Beautiful Girl Ugly Shirt

_She makes me look at her size_

_You know I don't have to lie_

_But what can I tell her_

_You know she's so beautiful-_

_Why do all girls think they're fat?_

* * *

Nancy Blackett was not having a good day.

It was nine in the morning. By now, she was supposed to be beautified and ready to be the bridesmaid at the wedding she had been predicting ever since the bride met the groom eight years ago.

Unfortunately, one of the hooks on her dress was stuck; her hair had not been brushed and was sticking up on one side of her head as an angry, frowzy red mane; she had just laddered her last decent pair of stockings; and, to cap it all, she hadn't worn earrings for so long that the piercings had all but closed up.

"Ow," she muttered as she tried for the seventh time that morning to force one of her new earrings through the minuscule hole in her left earlobe. It was the worst possible morning for her alarm clock to have failed her. Glancing into the mirror as she hopped around the room, trying to pull on the now defunct right stocking, she realised that her crumpled pillow had left an imprint on her cheek. She groaned. Her dress, abandoned on the floor for the minute, snagged her ankle, and she toppled over. Many of the more colourful Chinese phrases she had learnt from Missee Lee sprang to her mind at the moment, and just as she was in the middle of screaming blue murder, she heard an amused voice from the other side of the door.

"All right in there, Nance?"

"_Don't come in, John!" _she bellowed, attempting to stand up and clonking her head on an open drawer of her dressing table. "_STUPID!_" she hollered, clutching a hand to the fresh cut. "Sorry, John, that wasn't aimed at you."

"Who was it aimed at?"

She could tell by his voice that he was trying not to laugh, and she appreciated the effort. Much as it was failing. "My dressing table is trying to kill me."

"Death by dressing table. Not what I expect to hear when an Amazon pirate is interred," John commented drily. Nancy scowled into the mirror.

"Oh, don't laugh at me," she snapped.

"I wouldn't dare. I have all my limbs intact and I intend to keep it that way. Now, would you care to tell me what the instigator of all this frantic, furious bustle happens to be?"

"_STUPID ALARM CLOCK!" _

John heard the sound of something flying thought the air, followed by a discordant chime and a shattering sound. He winced.

"You know, Nancy, that _probably _wasn't the best way to fix it," he mumbled.

"I don't like all this ridiculous dressing-up business. Why can't people get married in shirts and shorts?"

"You'll feel differently when your own turn comes. But don't worry. I've give you a shout on the dot of seven when Dot and Roger get married."

"I hate you," Nancy muttered. Now she was struggling to do up the hooks on the back of her gown. She almost had the bottom one in its hole when her fingers slipped. "How many time have I told you, John, that I have _no interest whatsoever _in Timothy Stedding?"

"Just the once, actually," John replied in a slightly altered voice, after a pause. "And after the first minute, I thought you were making it up. To be honest."

"Oh." Nancy was silent for a moment. "Well, it's true. Please believe me, John. You're my friend. I don't lie, and I especially don't lie to my friends. Now come in here and help me do my dress up. You're a gentleman. I trust you."

Rather hesitantly, John pushed open the door. Complete disarray met his bewildered eyes. Nancy's bed had not been made, the fragmented remains of her alarm clock lay on the floor, he counted nine individual stockings strewn about the place, one of her shoes was on the dressing table, and a petticoat, ripped entirely beyond redemption, hung haphazardly over the back of a tattered old chair. There were two marks on the wall, one obviously inflicted by her alarm clock, and the other made by-well, he hesitated to ask what.

Nancy herself, emitting small noises of frustration, standing in the midst of a sea of assorted garments, was still struggling with the hooks of her dress and had her back turned to him. Before he went over to her, he unearthed her record player from its premature grave under a skirt, fished in her mercifully well-ordered record box, and put a track on that he seemed to recall being one of her favourites. At the sound of the music, Nancy visibly relaxed, and he smiled.

"It's all right, Nance," he said, in the gentle tone that he and he alone was allowed to use with her. "Now explain what assistance you require exactly?"

"Do my hooks up. Please."

John began to walk over to her, stepping rather gingerly amongst the carnage that had recently been his best friend's carpet. "The bride's downstairs, but we don't have to be gone yet, so don't worry." Nancy moved her hands away from the back of her dress, and John began to do the hooks up, blushing furiously. "Er... are you sure this is... all right?" he mumbled.

"My, my, I can feel the heat of that blush from here," Nancy teased. "You've seen me in bathers, John-how can you be flustered simply putting bits of metal into other bits of metal?"

John declined to reply to this. Nancy could feel that he was breathing onto her neck, and she suddenly blushed as well. Not that she felt like _that _about John, of course...but this was the closest proximity she had had with a young man since her early teens. "You've met the best man, haven't you?" John asked her quietly, trying to break the silence, now working on the hooks in the middle of her back.

"Tom Dudgeon? Yes. Nice lad, I suppose. Trifle too short for my taste, but still. He sails, doesn't he?"

"With his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back. Literally."

"Like you, then, Commodore?" He checked her comment for sarcasm, and, finding none, returned it.

"I wish. More like you, oh first female naval captain." John finished the final hook.

"All done," he smiled. "Captain...Nancy." She turned round, and he caught his breath. Even with her hair sticking out to one side, and a cut on her left cheek, Nancy was still the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes upon. He refrained from telling her so. She might have misinterpreted as something other than a good friend telling another good friend that a nice dress looked, well, nice on her.

"Thank you." On the spur of the moment, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. There was no blush this time, though-just a gentle reminder from her friend that she still needed to brush her hair. "Oh-just before you go, then, John," she paused to pick up a number of stockings, "are any of these whole enough to pass muster in the public eye?" John glanced at them, and hid a smile.

"Afraid not, Nancy, but your dress has a long skirt. You should just be able to get away with it." He beamed at her, and exited the room, stumbling over a hockey stick on the way out.

Nancy sat down on her bed, before leaping up again quickly. "Hairbrush," she muttered. She picked up the offending brush and began to drag it through her hair. She sighed. _When _had her best friend got so good-looking? Why hadn't she noticed it before? How dare he get good-looking? Why was she thinking along this highly uncharacteristic train of thought? With that last, she managed to removed the vivid image of John looking dapper in his suit from her mind's eye, gave herself a stern lecture on the subject of not thinking her best friend remotely attractive. Unhealthy and potentially dangerous feelings could spring from that, and the last thing she needed was to ruin her friendship with John the way Timothy had destryoed theirs.

* * *

_(Hey hey hey)_

_She's so pretty_

_(Hey hey hey)_

_My friend_

_(Hey hey hey)_

_I feel stupid_

_Again._

**Thankyou for your reviews, Dusty! I'd entirely given up on anyone ever reading this story, so, as much as I love it, I'd abandoned it. But your reviews reminded me that I loved it... so I thought I'd carry it on! I already had these two chapters written ages ago, but I hadn't bothered to post them... I'm working on another one!**

**Title taken from **_**Ban the Tube Top **_**by **_**Reel Big Fish. **_**Lyrics taken from **_**Why Do All Girls Think They're Fat? **_**by the same band... though I've tweaked them in a couple of places, because the middle of the song gets a bit... intimate?**


	5. Wedding March

_I can hear the bells!_

_Well, don't you hear them chime?_

_Can't you feel my heartbeat_

_Keeping perfect time?_

* * *

When at last the mane was tamed, Nancy looked into the mirror, slid in her earrings with far less trouble than earlier, and pushed her hair out of her face. "You'll do," she told herself out loud. She was supposed to be collecting a floral wreath from downstairs, and a bouquet as well, and she took the stairs two at a time (difficult in a calf-length skirt), ending with her careering into the bride, who was looking dutifully beautiful.

"Titty," Nancy began with a broad smile, "you are positively glowing. I hope I'm as happy on my wedding day as you are this moment."

"Oh, you will be," Titty replied, smoothing out her dress with an air of nervous excitement. "Do I look all right?"

"Let's put it this way: I don't know how Dick is going to make it through until the minister says 'you may now kiss the bride'." Nancy took her friend by the shoulders and slowly turned her around. "I honestly believe you might be the most beautiful girl in the world at this precise moment in time."

"Thank you." Titty paused. "Even if I am-I think every girl is, on the day she marries the man she loves-you are coming a pretty close second."

"That she is," John added, entering the room. "Thank you, Titty. I told her that earlier, but I don't think she believed me." He enveloped his sister in an enormous bear hug. "Am I interrupting a private conversation, by the way?"

"No," the girls replied together. They looked at each other and giggled.

"Am I hearing things? Is _Captain Nancy Blackett _giggling?" John teased. "So she's female after all!"

"Oh, go away, unless you have something useful to say," Nancy replied. She picked a wreath up from the hall table, which was covered in wedding preparations of various types, and tried to fit it onto her head. It was too small.

"Nancy," John began with a smile, "that is Peggy's wreath. I know Susan did the organisation of the flowers, but even she, in her lack of artistry, wouldn't have chosen pink for a redhead." He removed the offending wreath and replaced it with one of cornflowers and tiny white roses. "Now," he continued, "stand there, both of you, and wait whilst I run to find Peggy." He left Nancy and Titty standing in the hallway, and ran off surprisingly quickly for a young man in a frock-coat and smart heels.

"Rather handsome, your brother," Nancy commented. "Never noticed until today."

"You want to watch out, thinking things like that," Titty replied sweetly. "You'll make your Squashy Hat all jealous."

"Oh no, I didn't mean that!" Nancy replied hastily. "And _he's not __my __Squashy Hat_-the feeling is all on his side. I've been trying to discourage him for two years. I have to admit, I've never had any sort of romantic feeling for anyone."

"Not even John, during your teens?"

Nancy started at this. She knew Titty was perceptive, but she had had no idea she was _that _perceptive. "There is a difference between a teenage one-sided attachment and being in love, Titty."

"To be sure. I ought to know." She seemed to let the subject drop. "I'm so glad you're going to be my bridesmaid, Nancy! It just wouldn't have been right without _you _being involved in it in some way."

"Susan is not going to enjoy it, is she?" The instant the words were out of her mouth, Nancy could have kicked herself. She would rather have cut her tongue out altogether than bring any sort of pain to Titty on this day, of all days. There was a cold, hard, uncomfortable little silence, rather as if one had swallowed a large pill and could feel it going down, before Titty replied quietly and a trifle stiffly.

"No, she is not."

There was another pause. It was, mercifully, this point at which Peggy entered the room, flattening out her skirt. Notwithstanding the natural superiority of appearance which any bride has on her wedding day, she was easily the most beautiful girl in the wedding party. Her golden hair was twisted into a simple, stunning updo, and her build was, unlike Nancy's or even Titty's, petite and perfect instead of robust and sturdy. As a flat contradiction to Nancy's morning, she gave the impression that she had simply stepped out of bed already ironed and coiffed. But there was something.. missing. Something that was different to the Peggy of old. Part of her heart and soul had been irretrievably lost when she had, upon discovering that she could never quite be her sister, had opted for the only thing that she was really better at. Margaret was a beautiful girl and an excellent socialite, but she was not a pirate any more. She drowned out the rest of the group in her effusive, admiration of the bride. Titty consented to being cooed over for a few minutes, though eventually Nancy felt painfully sorry for her friend and reminded Peggy to put on her wreath.

"_And_," she added, "it's high time we were on our way. You know we don't want Dick to think that you've jilted him, do we?"

Titty simply laughed at the sheer absurdity of this statement.

"Yes, let's go. Where are Dot and Su?"

It was uncomfortable, mentioning Susan's name on a day such as this, a day supposed to be a celebration of love. Nancy, perhaps, did not find it quite so difficult, but Peggy, Susan's closest friend and confidant, and Titty, Su's sister, found it very much so.

"I think that the other girls-including our irrepressible Bridgie-are in Dot's room. Though my sister might be in the kitchen," Titty replied. Nancy knew that this when speaking of Susan was partly her fault for her careless slip of the tongue earlier, and she bit her lip, wishing more than anything else that she could somehow erase the words spoken. John came in at this point, saw the look on Nancy's face, and drew her away from the rest of the crowd.

"Heard it, don't worry about it. Su will cope-she's still got Susanishness buried deep within her-and you know, she's _my _sister and I've blundered many a time. Titty still loves you, you're still one of her best friends-I still...well, you're still my best friend..." Nancy smiled at the words that John had almost allowed himself to speak, before he had realised how they could be misconstrued. "Don't worry, Nance, soon as Titty sees Dick she'll forget anything else."

"John! Nancy! If you stand there whispering alone together for any longer someone will swoop in and take you for lovers! Come _on_-we're going!" Titty exclaimed, interrupting the hasty conference. She touched John on the shoulder to rouse him, and he and Nancy quickly followed the bride and the rest of her wedding party out of the door.

* * *

_I can hear the bells-_

_My head is spinning._

_

* * *

_

**Rewritten 14/04/08. **

**Rewritten Dec 09. Title probably doesn't need any explaining. Lyrics taken from "I Can Hear the Bells", which is on the Hairspray soundtrack and is sung by the excellent Nikki Blonsky.**


	6. You, To Help Me Forgive

Ah, another chapter at last! Thanks for your review, Dusty; I had major writer's block on this piece and I have my doubts about this chapter. Probably it will be pulled off the net and rewritten according to constructive criticism given in reviews (so please r+r!) but I didn't know how to tackle this topic. Also, all those of you that have this story on your alert lists (you know who you are, and so do I; I saw you on my stats page...) but haven't reviewed... please do!

**I think I've forgotten these until now, but I'm fairly sure I don't own any of this, except the plot bunnies. And Andrew Clowd, but I'm not too fond of him...**

* * *

_Whenever this world is cruel to me_

_I've got you, to help me forgive_

* * *

"I would like to throw a theory up to you, Nancy Blackett," John announced as he and Nancy escaped from the reception, laughing. "I am not Dick, nor do I pretend to be, but I do believe this is based on actual scientific evidence."

"And this theory is?" Nancy has lost her painful heels somewhere, and was improperly in stockinged feet.

"I would like to postulate that you actually cried during the wedding today," he teased gently. They sat down on the wooden bench overlooking their Lake.

"Nonsense. There is no truth in that theory," Nancy replied with a grin. She couldn't be bothered with the effort of deceiving John.

"Of course. That is what I thought. Still, though, if you had happened to be crying, as it very much appeared you were when I stood up to give Titty away, I would have understood completely. And I would have known that they were not solely tears of joy, and I would have understood." Nancy glanced at him enquiringly.

"It was a very beautiful wedding, for a start. But I suspect that, had you been crying, you would have been mourning the loss of a best friend, who is travelling ahead into maiden waters as yet unsailed by you. And, if I had noticed you crying, then I would have told you to buck up. I'm still here, and Titty still loves you. We're not going to leave you alone, Captain." He slung an arm around her shoulders, briefly. She placed her hand over his, and a warm smile spread over her insides, though she was careful not to allow her features to express her feelings.

"Thanks, Commodore." She paused. "John?"

"Yes, Nancy?"

"What is the deal with Susan? What happened? I know something happened that made her change, and that the something was to do with some kind of romantic attachment, but I don't know what, and I miss the old Su. And I can't ask anyone else."

"Nobody ever told you?" John asked rhetorically, surprised. "Well." He swallowed. "It's a long story, and it's not a very nice one, and I'll have to ask you not to tell anyone." He knew that he could trust Nancy, so he didn't even bother to wait for her to confirm.

"Shortly after Su turned seventeen, she got involved with one of Jim Brading's friends. He courted her for about a year, and it seemed very much apparent that they were in love. We all thought 'Oh good, Su will be the first one down the aisle' as we'd all predicted it anyway. They got engaged on her eighteenth birthday, and I remember Su writing, telling me all about it... He'd taken her out on the river just before sunset, to the place on the bank that they'd gone to the first time they'd been out alone, and when they got ashore, the sun was setting, and he asked her to marry him."

He laughed bitterly. "I think you might have even met him. It was just after you were about to leave on _HMS Abigail_, you know, the first time you were first mate. Susan had just left school and she was living down by the river where we met Jim, with Mother. His name was Andrew Clowd." He pronounced the name with great venom. It was the first time Nancy had ever seen him that angry, and she wondered if maybe this Andrew had jilted Su. "Perhaps my mother was old-fashioned, to teach Su and I about morals and the sanctity of marriage, and the, uh, marital union. Perhaps it is old-fashioned to care about such things, hmm?" Nancy knew this wasn't directed at her, but she shook her head involuntarily.

"At any rate, Andrew started to put a little pressure on Su to... you know. She just saw it as ordinary maleness; other friends from school had become engaged, and their fiancées were putting a little pressure on them, too. Those men seemed to see it as part of the engagement. Susan said no, of course, but he just began to put a little more pressure on her. But she loved him, she really did, Nancy, and I don't really blame her for staying with him. But at her nineteenth birthday party, he, uh, he," John's eyes were filling with tears. "He forced her to... _he forced her_."

"I'm so sorry, John," Nancy said, her eyes also beginning to tear up. "I never would have asked if I'd known." She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, just as she would have done if Peggy had been crying. She paused, and then spoke again. "It wasn't your fault."

John pulled away and stared at her.

"Oh, please, John. How long have I known you now? Whenever something bad happens to one of us, you feel the need to take responsibility. But John, it wasn't your fault. Yes, Susan got raped. And no matter what happened, if she was insistent on sticking with him, then there was nothing whatsoever you could do about it." She realised she still had her arms wrapped around him, and let go hastily.

He didn't respond. He was staring out across the lake.

* * *

_You're the best friend that I ever had-_

_I've been with you such a long time_

_You're my sunshine_

* * *

**Rewritten 14/04/08.**

**Rewritten Dec 09. Title and lyrics both taken from **_**You're My Best Friend **_**by Queen (another one of my favourite ever ever ever songs).**


	7. Don't Need Another

And here is Chapter 7... I have to thank Kat for the plot bunny for this chapter! Otherwise it would have taken

_**forever **_**for me to update... Entering the Great Aunt! (I know she seems even worse than usual in this chapter. I do have an explanation, I promise). **

**Thanks for your review, Dusty! Sorry about giving the cad the wrong name... Andrew is my generic villain, you see. He appears in my Narnia story as well. Thanks for your other comments regarding spacing-I had a look at that chapter and I realised that you were right. I'll rewrite it if my school ever gives me a chance to breathe between essays. And I know that they belong together :D I'm not disputing that. This is a story of indeterminate length, and that will play its part before the end. This story is mostly about Nancy, with a fair and reasonable amount of John and of Titty, but the other characters will be important as well.**

**Review people! I like reviews and constructive criticism as much as I like chocolate and Q.I.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned it, there would be lots more fluff in the books themselves, thereby eliminating the need for me to write it myself... Don't sue me. I'm not sure who owns it, since Ransome is dead and all that, but it isn't me. **

* * *

_I'm free to make my mind up_

_You've either got it or you don't_

* * *

"Oh _no,_" Nancy heard her sister saying, as she came down the stairs, two by two. Peggy was in the parlour, with Mrs Blackett, and they were poring over a letter.

"'Oh no', what?" she asked, not liking the tone in her sister's voice. Peggy wordlessly held out the letter, and Nancy took it. Harrogate postmark. That was never a good start. She began to scan the letter "Blah blah blah snobbery... blah blah blah Victorianism... blah blah _have heard that Ruth is on leave from her outlandish activities in the Navy, and am arriving on the twenty-eighth_... Giminy that's tomorrow... _to speak to her about this most serious cavorting in a man's profession._ Wretched old bag! Leave me alone, do you hear?" She tore the letter into tiny shreds, much to her mother's disapproval.

"Thank goodness I already had the details of her arrival, Nancy, or I would be in serious trouble. You are to meet her off the three-thirty train tomorrow afternoon in Rattletrap, my girl, and you _will _be well-behaved. I know she tries your patience, but blood is thicker than water." Mrs Blackett pursed her lips. "Peggy, I'm going to need you to move back into Nancy's room for a bit. Your room is nicer than hers, and of course we must give Aunt Maria the nicest room. Don't frown at me like that, Margaret! We're all just going to have to make do for a few days."

"Have you warned Cook?" Nancy asked grimly. The horrified look on her mother's face was enough to answer in the negative. A few minutes later, Nancy could be heard in the kitchen entreating with Cook to "put something nasty in her dinner... _no, _not enough to kill her, of course, just enough to make her long for Harrogate!" Mrs Blackett suppressed a smile and pretended she hadn't heard. There were times when she suspected her irrepressible eldest had never grown out of being fifteen.

***

"Good afternoon, Ruth," the Great Aunt said, looking sternly at Nancy. "What a shame! The years have not been kind to you. For a few moments around your seventeenth birthday, I _almost _thought you were going to be a pretty girl, though pretty red-heads are rare enough in this world." Nancy stifled a laugh at this. "And I suspected, when I saw Margaret in town recently and realised how nicely she had turned out, that you may have been the same." She tutted. "Still, it is to be expected, really, if you are carrying on at sea the way you are. You are far too old to wear your hair like that, young lady. You should have been turning it up by your sixteenth birthday."

Nancy lifted a defensive hand to the scruffy red plait hanging down her back, resisting the urge to point out that she always turned her hair up when in uniform. In fact, she had only submitted to long hair because a bun was _required _as part of her dress. She hefted the G.A.'s suitcase up with ease, and swung it into the back seat of Rattletrap. "Ruth! Some _care _with my belongings, _if you please._"

"Of course, Aunt Maria," Nancy replied demurely. They were the first words she had had the opportunity to speak. She had not even managed to greet her great-aunt before the tirade had started. "Aunt Maria" sniffed.

"I should hope so." She slid gracefully into the front seat of Rattletrap. "And I would ask you to drive responsbily, please." Nancy dropped down into the driver's seat, amused to see the G.A. picking up her skirts, as if the car were somehow dirty. She started the engine, waited for the four clunking, grinding sounds that told her the car was ready to move, and began to reverse. Very, _very_ slowly. "And how is the young man that has been coming to call on Margaret?"

"_Lots _of young men have been coming to call on Peggy, Aunt Maria. I've really no idea which you mean." Nancy kept the impatience from her voice with surprising skill. "Most of them actually call on her at her flat in London, not here in the sleepy Lakes."

"I mean the one that your mother approves of," the Great Aunt replied stiffly.

"Oh. I suppose you mean John." Nancy gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. "He is not actually _coming to call _on Peggy." _No, he's got far too much sense. _"That is just Mother's perception."

The G.A. did not choose to reply to that. Nancy relaxed her hold on the steering wheel, and scolded herself. _Don't let her get to you, Nance. _That was what John had said to her last night, in a useless attempt to pacify her. Had the G.A. become worse with age, or was Nancy herself simply more sensitive? She hoped it was the former, and was reasonably sure it was. After all, she wasn't any less thick-skinned than before. Was she? She scolded herself again, and attempted to screw her mind back to the matter at hand; namely, Peggy's suitors.

"And you?" the Great Aunt continued. "Have you a young man coming to call on you?" The tone of her voice indicated that she thought it somewhat unlikely.

"Only Timothy, Aunt Maria, and I've turned him down twice now."

"It may well be the only offer you ever get, young lady. It is your duty to make the most of it," the G.A. commented.

"It is my _duty _not to marry without love." Nancy was rapidly losing her temper, despite her best efforts to behave herself. She was never more relieved than when Beckfoot appeared around the bend. She plastered a smile onto her face. "Almost there, Aunt Maria." She couldn't resist: she slammed her foot to the floor, and Rattletrap fairly flew along the last two hundred or so feet, feeling a guilty satisfaction as the G.A. briefly lost control of her stony features and shrieked. Nancy swung the car into the drive at top speed, and the tyres screeched. She threw open her door, and stepped out. _Only a few more minutes of good behaviour, _she told herself firmly, and helped the G.A. out of the car.

"Aunt Maria! Oh, it is _good _to see you again!" Mrs Blackett exclaimed, appearing at the door, with more enthusiasm than she felt. At least nobody had died during the journey from the station, which, when Nancy was driving, was a distinct possibility. If it hadn't been for her bad ankle, she would have collected her aunt herself. Peggy couldn't drive yet. "How is the air at Harrogate? Margaret will be straight out. She's just bidding farewell to a gentleman caller from over the lake. How was your journey? Not too tiring, I hope."

"Indeed not. Ruth, take my luggage up to the spare room. I hope a hot lunch is laid out?"

***

Nancy took a bite of the chicken on her plate. Her theory was that if she permanently had a mouthful of something, the G.A. couldn't make her talk. Poor Cook! They had all expected the G.A. to want sandwiches after her journey, and when she found out that that was all there was, she had been "most displeased". The chicken that they were currently eating had been marinated for today's dinner, and had been hastily cooked at her demands. It tasted all right, but Nancy could see that the middle of hers was a bit pink. Hardly Cook's fault, after she was rushed so much, She kicked Peggy under the table and motioned not to eat the whole thing. Of course, Peggy wouldn't have eaten the whole thing _anyway. _Most not say it out loud and land Cook in even more trouble. She couldn't very well kick her own mother, though. Hopefully Mother would notice that the middle was red and not eat it.

"I hope you have been spending less time with the Walkers of late," the G.A. commented. Nancy scowled. That was not a good way to start any pleasant conversation. She was reasonably sure that Peggy would still defend the Walkers against anyone, and she herself certainly would. She swallowed hastily.

"Actually, the youngest of the two girls, Titty, is recently married. I was her bridesmaid." Her tone was still polite, but Peggy and Mrs. Blackett could see it meant death and glory, were the G.A. to continue down this path.

"Indeed," Mrs Blackett said. "Susan and Margaret are still as close as they once were. They share a residence in London." Better to stay away from the rather more dangerous water of John.

"Ah, well. At least they are no longer friends with that awful boy, what was his name? John. Yes, John Walker." Too late.

Nancy and Peggy both turned red, though for different reasons. Nancy was furious; Peggy coy. "Actually," Nancy said hotly, no longer bothering with the polite tone, "John Walker is my _very dearest friend_. And he is_ not awful_. I suppose, since you are so determined to think him so, enumerating on his many values will be pointless."

"John Walker is a terribly nice lad," Peggy added, almost ruffled enough to be angry. "He's caring without ever being overbearing. Something," she added, with preciseness "that I suppose it is unfair of us to expect you to understand."

"Peggy!" her mother exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Auntie," (Mrs Blackett had not called the G.A. _Auntie _for about forty years), "but you must see that John is very dear to my daughters. He has been a close friend to Nancy for ten years or more, and he has been coming to call on Peggy for six months or so."

Nancy shoved her chair back. "I am going to my room," she said coldly. "Good night, Mother; Peggy." She stormed out of the room.

"There you go, Great Aunt," Peggy added, also standing up and now genuinely fuming herself. She followed Nancy out of the room.

* * *

_I'm not gonna get hooked up just cause you say I should_

_But I'm not saying I don't wanna fall in love, because I would_

**Rewritten Dec 09. Title and lyrics both taken from **_**Single **_**by Natasha Bedingfield (I don't go much on the music, but lyric-wise, this is my MANTRA. Except that I am a Christian and I don't believe in mantras). Order jiggled about to change the meaning somewhat, I confess.**


	8. Paler Than The Moon

**Sorry once again for the ridiculously long wait between updates and the short update this time. Just a short note to let you know that I am still not the owner of these marvellous characters, because if I were, my name would be Ransome and I would be dead. Clear?**

* * *

_Fathers, be good to your daughters-_

_Daughters will love like you do._

_Girls become lovers, and turn into mothers,_

_So mothers, be good to your daughters too._

* * *

"Nancy, dear," Nancy started; that was her _sister _calling her Nancy instead of Ruth! What on earth? Peggy was talking cautiously through the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course you can, Peg-... Margaret." If Peggy was extending the courtesy of calling her by her chosen name, she ought to do the same. "It's your room too for the while, anyway, whilst _she's _staying here."

Peggy pushed the door open and stepped in; still every inch a lady and even more beautiful than usual. The colour that had rushed to her cheeks during her outburst had not yet faded away, and her eyes were sparkling with anger. "Don't worry, Nancy, I know John is not coming here to call on me." Perhaps there was a slight emphasis on _me, _perhaps not. If such an emphasis happened to be present, Nancy genuinely did not hear it.

"Why would I be worried? You two might not be the best match in the world, but you're my sister and you deserve the best," Nancy said quietly, turning to face Peggy, who did not answer her question directly. Instead, she sat down next to her sister on the bed, and gave her a fierce hug.

"He is very fond of you," Peggy pointed out irrelevantly, or so it seemed to Nancy.

"Close friends for ten years tend to be fond of each other."

Peggy, astutely, realised that any contradiction to this statement would upset her sister enormously. So that was how the ground lay. _Close friends. _She smiled sadly. _Well, bully for me; I get him to myself a little longer before I have to relinquish him. _"The G.A. is awful, isn't she?"

"She is. Does she seem worse to you than she used to?" The G.A.'s words from the car earlier about _duty to marry _echoed in Nancy's head. She did not have a duty to marry Timothy. If she did... well, she simply was not going to fulfil that duty. Besides, who said she wanted to marry and be a mother anyway? She could be a career girl. Career girls were becoming more popular all the time. Nothing wrong with it, nothing at all.

"She doesn't seem that much worse to me; she always did hate the Walkers, you know. But you had her all to yourself for that whole car journey. I've no doubt she said something to deserve being branded as 'worse than before'."

"Oh, believe you me, she _did_." Nancy sighed. "Spiteful old cat. As if I had _any _duty to marry that... that _Timothy!_"

"He's very nice," Peggy ventured. "Friendly and very devoted to you."

"He has no... spunk!" Nancy glared at the wall. "No backbone! It would be terrible to have to have so much spine in a marriage, just because your _husband _didn't!"

_Terrible_, Peggy agreed silently. _Time to change the subject before one or both of us says something we'll regret. _"Nancy, do you want to go and see that new picture with me? It'll be showing in Rio-I mean, in," (she gave the native name for the little lakeside town) "tomorrow." She smiled hopefully. "It's about pirates, you know. I might have lost or buried many things from childhood, but I still have a spot soft or three for redblooded pirates."

Nancy laughed out loud. "Do you remember Missee Lee?" she asked, anger suddenly evaporating. Peggy decided with some satisfaction that she had said the right thing.

"I remember her, Nancy. And..." she continued talking animatedly, and they were caught up instantly in the first heartfelt conversation they had had in years. Loyalty, especially loyalty to one's friends and one's sisters friends, Peggy concluded, could open doors one once thought shut, bolted and cobwebbed-over forever.

* * *

_What do we want?_

_A man worth fighting for!_

* * *

**Ok, so it's short. Forgive me! School has been a hassle recently, plus I've been caught up in writing a subplot for future chapters.**

**Estella x**

**EDIT: Rewritten Dec 09. Title and second half of lyrics taken from **_**A Girl Worth Fighting For**_** (Mulan Soundtrack)-though I think you can tell that I've done a bit of jiggery-pokery again. I want a man worth fighting for and I am sure that both Blackett daughters would want someone they'd go into battle to defend! First half of the lyrics taken from **_**Daughters**_**, by John Mayer. I am sure you are getting sick of me saying this, but that's another song that I absolutely ADORE. (There are about twenty songs in the world that my life would be emptier without, and I have used most of them in the scribbling of this tale).**


	9. Don't Care For Sound

**Sorry, long wait again! The beginning of the subplot comes next chapter... we're moving away from the lake... away from Ransome's settings altogether... but not till next chapter :)** **Somewhat obviously, I still don't own it. By the way, if you lot leave you email addresses in your reviews, I can reply to you. **

Nancy came out of the picture house arm-in-arm with her sister, and laughing.

"So you really don't mind that I conned you into seeing a romance picture?" Peggy asked her, a trifle nervously.

"Peggy, I never gave any impression that I was against romance. Romance is beautiful. I don't like... hot-blooded steeds, and giggling girls, and all the mind games and idealised stories and immorality that people mistake for romance. Sorry, Margaret, I mean."

"Oh, you can call me Peggy. I rather like it in small doses."

"Peggy, then." Nancy smiled.

"Nancy! Peggy! What are you two doing out in Rio? Nance, you only have two weeks of leave left. I thought you'd spend them sailing." John appeared between Nancy and Peggy, taking one on each arm and kissing Peggy on the cheek. He grinned broadly.

"I can sail at work, you know. It is what I do. Spending time with my sister is a privilege reserved only for when I'm on leave."

"We went to see that new picture, 'Love on the Amazon.' It's very good," Peggy chipped in, smiling somewhat coquettishly at John.

"Rather a coincidental name."

"Isn't it just?" she replied. "Oh, Nancy, your Timothy is over there. By the florist. He's trying to get your attention. You really ought to go and speak to him. Catch up with us in a few minutes, when you've dealt with him."

"Why?" Nancy grumbled. Despite her reluctance, however, she let go of John's arm and strode off towards Timothy. John vaguely heard her saying crisply and coldly, "Mr Stedding, good day."

"That's sad," he observed. "When did Squashy Hat become Timothy become Mr Stedding?"

"When he started buying Nancy flowers. And engagement rings."

John stopped short. "Engagement rings?" He looked at Peggy. She did a little internal celebratory dance-that was exactly the reaction she had been looking for.

"Why, yes. Nancy's turned him down twice now. Did she not tell you? My, that is odd. I dearly love to tease her about it." She gazed off into the distance. A few minutes later, though, she broke the silence by adding, "Well, aren't you going to ask me how the film was? It is the proper thing, you know."

John jerked back to alertness. "Of course. How was the picture, Peggy?"

"Oh, simply wonderful. And so very believable! It's a touching, tender love story about a British sailor falling for the queen of the Amazons. It was a beautiful plot. How perfect-an explorer and an Amazon."

John dropped Peggy's arm and turn to face her, staring. "Are you trying to get me to look twice at your sister, Peggy?"

"Of course not!" Peggy exclaimed. "No! Whatever gave you that idea? I'm simply trying to get you to acknowledge that you have already looked twice at her-acknowledge to yourself what is quite plain to me-and maybe suggest that you look a third or fourth time. She's really quite charming, once you get to know her. And there are those who think she's beautiful. That chap over there, for example." She paused. "Oh, my, there is David! I must go and talk to him. He's so dashing. American, you know. This is my mysterious smile; is it any good?"

She fixed John with the most flirtatious smile he had ever seen, but didn't give him a chance to offer his opinion (which was probably a good thing). "I've been practising for him. He's really rather special, you know. Anyway, must dash. Oh, look, seems as if Timothy's going to make it a third time rejected. You'd think he'd learn? There are other women who have given in, in moments of weakness. Still, Nancy's strong. I'm positive she won't. I mean, think how miserable she'd be. Well, I'm almost positive. Almost. David is leaving! Here I am, gabbling on. Goodbye, John." She stood up on her very tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, as he bent his head absent-mindedly to receive the little peck.

John didn't see Peggy trot off around the corner towards the entirely fictitious David, but she did watch him stride off purposefully _away_ from the florist-for all of four seconds, if she counted correctly. Then he stopped in his tracks, sighed, muttered something she couldn't here, and walked towards the hopeful Timothy and the irked-looking Nancy. She gave a bittersweet smile and turned to go home.

"Why, Timothy, it's been an-" he broke off. "I'm terribly sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Timothy started to reply in the affirmative, but Nancy wouldn't let him. "No, of course not! Come on, John, I want to borrow your sister's letter again." Goodbye, Mr Stedding." They were scarcely out of earshot before she was thanking him, but John didn't hear, because he was too busy convincing himself all he had been trying to do was save Nancy a life of misery-if someone _right _for her came along, of course he would have no problem with it. Of course not.


	10. Pretty Ballerina

**Just a warning to all of you-I suspect that the quality of my writing will decrease significantly this chapter, since I'm unaccustomed to writing Dot. I really don't feel that I've got a good handle on her at all, though I recently reread The Picts and The Martyrs. I've got to get used to her, because she is going to be a very important character later one (hint hint, heh). The more I write her, the more I'll be used to her and hopefully, the quality will improve again. Also, spellcheck is broken, so apologies for typos etc! Sorry this chapter is short, but I had to cut it in half or it would have been way too long. Next one will be posted soon.**

**EDIT: I've now stuck both halves of this chapter together (to be honest, posting them separately was a little odd of me in the first place). Dec 09.**

* * *

_Super trouper _

_Beams are gonna blind me_

_But I won't feel blue_

_If somewhere in the crowd there's you_

* * *

Dot was extremely nervous about her audition.

It had taken some convincing her parents that acting in a theatre was not scandalous loose living, but now that she had permission to audition, she was completely terrified of actually _doing _so.

It didn't help, of course, that Roger, having kindly offered to escort her to Keele (purely because Dick was still on his honeymoon, of course) was now politely sat in the theatre's cafeteria, waiting for her to be done. She felt guilty for keeping him waiting. It was only a little part in a relatively obscure musical, but it was in Keele's biggest theatre. It was also an adaptation of one of her favourite books. The idea of ruining any Austen creation by her bad acting, even the minor character Charlotte, filled her with self-contempt.

"Number five, Brands, enter."

And the sheer volume of prospective Charlottes auditioning! Number four had just come out of the audition room looking as if she had faced the proverbial dragon, and not very successfully at that. She was pale, red-eyed, and generally appeared miserable. Dot was number seven. She closed her eyes and tried to be calm. Collected. There were far bigger shows than this, shows in London with thousands (well, maybe not _thousands)_ of chorus girls, shows which cost hundreds of pounds to produce. She'd lived in the capital for three months, sharing Peggy and Susan's little flat and researching for a novel about inner-city life, and during that time she'd seen at least half-a-dozen shows, all showier and more important than this little backwater production. But it was still in a proper theatre, this _A Bennet Affair_ show, and it was still petrifying.

_Calm down, Dot. _The short song Charlotte Lucas had to sing (in actual fact a duet with Elizabeth Bennet), along with the one important monologue she had, was straightforward. All the auditioning girls had been given three weeks to practice their parts before this, and she had lived and breathed it. Peggy-and, when she wasn't available, Susan or Mrs Blackett or Mrs Walker or, really, anybody-had patiently played the piano music for her to sing to. Titty, before her wedding, had coached her in speech and posture. Day after day had been spent in the Pict House, reciting and performing to an invisible audience. There was really nothing to worry about, nothing to do. She was well-prepared, very well-prepared in fact.

"Next please. Number six, Byrd."

Dot refused to become worried again. She did not open her eyes, instead playing the few lines over and over in her head. It was only a little clip of a solo, and then singing the lower part of the chorus with Elizabeth. Presumably they would have the girl cast as Elizabeth there, or maybe her understudy. The Bennets, along with Darcy, Bingley and the other major characters, had been cast two weeks ago and were already rehearsing. It would be _seven_ any minute now. She was excited, not really nervous anymore. What did she have to lose?

"Number Seven, Callum, please."

---

"Callum?" Dot was greeted by the most austere-looking of a particularly austere group of middle-aged men. There were six in total, seated along a panelled table at the near end of the audition room, which was far larger than she had expected. That was a sudden reminder that she had never done this before. She was beginning to feel nauseous panic build in her again, when she was greeted by an altogether friendlier voice.

"Dorothea Callum?" A bright-eyed, dark-haired young woman walked over and shook her hand warmly. "Miranda Shaw. I've been cast as Elizabeth, lucky me-and don't worry, I can get rid of my accent for the part." Dot laughed despite herself. Miranda had spoken in a rather rough Lake accent, not unlike those of the snake-charmers Roger had introduced her to so long ago. Well, admittedly they were actually charcoal burners, but they had a viper! And snake-charmers were so much more romantic. "That girl- (Miranda waved towards a girl standing a few feet away by the window, similar in build to the former but very different in colouring) "-is my relief. She does the auditions that I don't. My understudy, and she's also playing Kitty. Her name's Anne."

"Miss Callum?" one of those auditioning her interrupted them in a bored voice. "Let's get a move on, shall we? You have already been taught the song, I believe, but you haven't sung it alone, so we'll give you a chance to rehearse with Miss Shaw. You will then act the scene in which Charlotte confesses she is going to marry Mr Collins, before singing _Cannot Afford It_ together." He nodded towards a short, stout woman perched on a stool in front of a cabinet piano. "Mrs Adams will play you in."

After one false start, Dorothea found it surprisingly easy to slip into character during the rehearsal. She had rehearsed the part so faithfully, since receiving the script a month ago, that it seemed almost second nature to be Charlotte Lucas, with her insecurities and heartbreakingly difficult choice. However, she was acutely aware of the beauty of Miranda's voice throughout the song. Somewhat taken aback by the clear and classical sound, as she had expected the girl's accent to reflect in her performance, she realised that Miranda had gone through significant amounts of vocal training. If this was the calibre of voice they were expecting, Dot doubted she had the experience to make the cast. Still, Elizabeth was the star and Charlotte was only a minor character, with more to act than to sing. She focussed on that instead of allowing herself to become worried.

The rehearsal came to an end with the pitifully sad last verse, and Dot swallowed. This was it.

Her audition began with a short, confrontational scene between Elizabeth and Charlotte. Dot did not need to refer to her script for the lines, which seemed to surprise Miranda a little. Very soon she found herself saying the line, "We cannot all afford to be romantic, Lizzy," and heard Mrs Adams playing a minor scale which she did not recognise in the background. _Act this song rather than simply singing it, _she told herself, _and the part could still be yours._

"_As a girl I built my castles in the air_

_But I must now make a woman's choice."_

As she continued to sing the first stanza, Dot made a conscious effort not to worry about the notes, only interpreting the words. It was a good audition song. There was so much narrative, and you could easily lose yourself in the part.

"_No dreamt-up hero will come to care for me,_

_And now I must turn my hopes elsewhere."_

It was important, she remembered someone saying, to react when the other girl was singing as well acting when you sang yourself. It was Miranda's turn to sing a stanza, and she mentally shook her head. _Stop thinking and start acting_, she rebuked herself. Miranda-no, Elizabeth-was already halfway through the second stanza. She had been functioning on reflex, herself. Misery and defiance together, that was the way to play it. And it was her turn again.

_"My meagre beauty has faded fast_

_I must give up childish dreams at last_

_Pretty Lizzy, save your hopes of romance_

_But Mr Collins is my only chance._

_I-"_

She was almost surprised to hear Miranda interrupt her, so captivated had she been by the part. Hopefully that was a good thing.

"How can you bear it?" the accusation came. And with that line, they were catapulted into the climax of the song, an argument between the two girls, Lizzy's angry, uncomprehending pleas and Charlotte's tearful defence, their lines overlapping at times and neither character truly listening to the other. Very quickly it was time for the closing little couplet, which she had to begin solo.

_"We must go our separate ways,"_ and then Miranda joined in,

_"I wish you well, friend of childhood days!"_

"Well?" he asked her, gallantly helping his friend on with her coat. "Did you stun them all?" Dot looked pensively at Roger in response to that question. "Never mind. It's your first audition, and anyway, you're too pretty to play Charlotte Lucas."

Dot blushed. "Thankyou." She looked up at him, her face now wearing a smile which added weight to Roger's assessment. "I got a callback!"

"English?"

She laughed. "It means I get to go through to the final auditions. There were twenty-eight Charlottes auditioning today. Five of us were asked to come back. I won't make the final cast, I know that; not experienced enough. But I can't believe I got a callback!"

"I can," Roger replied cheerfully. "Congratulations, Dot." He shook her hand heartily. "Well done! Do you want to get a cup of tea in a cafe, or go straight home? My treat."

"Oh, thank you, but I really want to go home and tell everyone."

"I can understand that," Roger agreed. "We'll get something in the train station. I'm starving."

Dot chuckled. "When aren't you?" Roger shrugged sheepishly. "Come on," she continued. "Next train for the Lake leaves in half an hour-ten minutes to get to the station, and fifteen to eat something."

The cafe in the train station made very impressive milkshakes, Roger decided. He bought them both raspberry milkshakes, along with bottles of lemonade and thick sandwiches for the journey. Dot had laughed good-naturedly at this. "It's only forty minutes," she had pointed out. "We'll hardly die for lack of sustenance." However, she had very gladly accepted the enormous slice of chocolate cake, and was sitting in the cafe, eating it with relish and giving a vivid description of her audition. When he asked her very nicely, she even sung a couple of lines of the audition song, though she giggled halfway through, somewhat marring the effect. He hadn't been flattering her earlier-he really did think she was too pretty to play Charlotte Lucas. She didn't look like someone who had to take her first chance at marriage, because it was likely to be her _only _chance. Anyway, even if Dot couldn't find someone to marry her, she'd always have him.

He didn't entirely like the idea of being her backup.

"Roger!" Dot was shaking his arm. "Wake up! The train goes in a few minutes." She gulped down the last few mouthfuls of her cake in a most unladylike way, almost looking like Nancy. Roger would never understand why John was so sweet on Nancy.

The railway carriage smelt of tobacco smoke, which reminded Roger that he was old enough to smoke a pipe now, and porbably even had one about his person. He rummaged amongst his pockets and found only an old cast-off of John's. John hardly ever smoked, except in the months directly after Father's death, or that one time Nancy had danced with Squashy Hat at Titty's wedding, when he had smoked three cigars in a row. At least she had evidently hated every minute of it. Dot had danced with someone from Norfolk-the best man, actually, but Roger wasn't up to remembering minor details like that-and clearly enjoyed it. Remembering that, he was about to light his own pipe and draw on it heavily. Catching sight of Dot's face, he sighed and put it away for later. She didn't like pipes, cigars or cigarettes, and always made her villains smokers. That reminded him of something else.

"Dot?" he asked.

"That's me."

"What made you change books for plays? Last time I heard, it was still writing."

"Oh, plays are just spoken books, anyway," came the reply. "I was writing a story about the beginning of Demetrius' relationship with Helena, you know, before Midsummer Night's Dream." No, Roger did not know, but he nodded anyway. "I read some Helena out from the play to get into character, for I was writing from her point of view, and I absolutely loved acting it. With all those artsy bohemian crowds Titty was mixing with at the time, it was easy to get some training."

Roger was vaguely dissatisfied with that response. He had expected a story. Suddenly Dot laughed. "Actually, that's not entirely true. Yes, I did, but the love for acting goes back a lot further than that. I normally tell people that version so that they don't get bored. Do you want to hear the whole thing? It's long and a bit rambling, and you can absolutely say no. I promise not to be remotely offended."

* * *

_Super trouper _

_Lights are gonna find me_

_Shining like the sun_

_Smiling, having fun_

_Feeling like a number one_

* * *

**P.S., no, the musical I allude to never existed in real life. Hence the cheesy songs penned by myself-but musicals **_**were**_** very, very cheesy at this point in time. **

**P.P.S. Despite the nature of the original S&A books, I have to admit there will be very few boats in this story as a whole. It is one of the great ambitions of my life to learn to sail, but, having been raised in an industrial, non-coastal town, it's quite difficult to get hold of someone to teach me. Sorry all!... and if you are willing to provide helpful detail about said boats so that I can write about them, I'd be very grateful. **

**Rewritten Dec 09. Title from **_**Nina, Pretty Ballerina**_**, by Abba, and lyrics taken from **_**Super Trouper **_**by the same.**


	11. Make Believe It Came From You

**So, so sorry for the long wait-family members started dying and being admitted to hospitals all over the place, and I wasn't really able to spend any time with these beloved, but fictional, playfellows.**

**I'm back now, and hopefully for a long time yet. Nancy should be back next chapter. I find it easier to write her, which is odd because I practically AM Dot. Sorry if this chapter is awful; I found it really difficult to get back into the swing of writing. **

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it-belongs to Ransome and all that jazz... **

* * *

_All the music of life seems to be_

_Like a bell that is ringing for me-_

* * *

"Of course I want to hear it!" Roger replied enthusiastically. A little too enthusiastically. Dot couldn't decided whether he was being sarcastic or not, but, with nearly an hour's train journey ahead of her and a need to fill the time with something, she began talking.

"You know Dick and I used to take our spring and autumn holidays in Norfolk?"

Roger nodded, remembering, with no fond feelings, the best man at Dick's wedding.

"Well-I suppose I must have been about fifteen. Yes, it must have been that year, because Dick was taking his School Cert., that year, and he couldn't go. The Death and Glories were in apprenticeships by then, except for Pete, who was noticeably jealous of the other two. It was the first year when the Coot Club were so low in numbers-we were only nominally a Club by then; I don't truly think anybody was quite as fussed about the birds as they had been, except Tom, who, bless his wonderful heart, still watches out for them. And Dick, of course." She paused to collect her thoughts. "The twins were back from school, which was lovely, because their holidays didn't always coincide with ours."

Roger, though he would never have admitted it to Dot, was growing impatient. He nodded encouragingly.

"Oh, sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?" She laughed. "Anyway, I don't know what it was-but Starboard got a part in a local amateur play. I think it had something to do with the fact that she and Port were not as close as they had been. Starboard, I don't know, she was sick of being part of Port-and-Starboard. Also, that spring-that spring it had started to be more obvious that some of us were lads and some lasses, to quote the old eelman; there was a great deal more awkwardness, and Port and Joe seemed to be getting fond of each other. It never came to anything, of course, but it meant that poor Starboard was left out in the cold."

Roger nodded. "That sort of thing never happened to us, though, did it? Even when John and Nancy..." He didn't bother to finish.

"I know," Dot agreed. "A lot of things are different in Norfolk. I think we just had a very different, you know, _feel_ to our friendship." She paused for a few seconds. "Anyway, it was a very wet spring, Tom was studying very hard for exams, Dick wasn't there, neither were the Death and Glories, and-to cut an excessively long story short-we ended up, due to a number of factors, helping Starboard to rehearse her part whenever we weren't sailing. It was only a minor role, but it distinguished her from Port. She wasn't just half of a partnership any more. Tom only agreed to help out of a sense of family loyalty, I suspect, and Bill and Joe couldn't help-which seemed to delight them. I loved it, though. I loved the feeling of performance, the feeling that I could get right inside a play, know what was going on in the playwright's head when he worked on it. In the end, I volunteered to be one of the chorus girls for the performance. Singing was never my strong suit, though."

"I'm sure-" Roger began to contradict her, but she shushed him.

"So, I first got my love of acting when I was fifteen. Apart from playing Titania once in a very shabbily-put-together school thing, I more or less left it by the wayside until I was about eighteen. You remember that I moved in with Titty in Oxford when she lived there; well, the group of people she moved with at the time were incredibly artsy and bohemian. Mostly, I didn't really like that lifestyle, though Titty-Tia, as they called her-loved the freedom. One of her friends, a chap called Victoir who'd dropped out of uni, was performing in a series of socialist dramas at a jazz club. I was invited to come along to the rehearsals and somehow found myself with a part."

"Victoir?" Roger asked glumly, perceiving more competition. Tom had already been mentioned too often for his liking.

"Yes, Victoir, and his common-law partner Alicia, ran a socialist amateur theatre class together," Dot confirmed. Roger's heart climbed back out of his boots, towards the place it was supposed to reside in. "I only took a couple of parts in plays like that, because I couldn't really bring myself to agree with the sentiments, but as soon as Titty moved to France, I moved in with Susan and Peggy in London. Spent the next year trawling every show in the West End, looking for an audition, before I eventually moved back here. I missed it here. I can't write in London, it's too stifling."

"I can understand that," said Roger, who couldn't.

"And, to bring a long story to a close, this way I get two professions. I couldn't give up writing or acting, now. For a long time, it looked like the former was the only option-Mother initially hated the idea of me becoming an actress, one step short of a loose woman and similar snobbery-but writing isn't reliable as a source of income." She smiled. "Neither is acting, but if I'm doing both, I can scrape by more or less alive every month. And so, having been a chorus girl, a walk-on part, and on occasion, a stagehand, you found me today at a real audition for a real part. And so goes the story so far. Thus ends my saga."

"It was a very good one," Roger assured her, privately resolving to go and see every one of her performances when she got the part. "Tell me another."

* * *

_I got a call-back! _Dot scrawled excitedly in her letter to Tom that evening. _Now, don't ask me what that is, because Roger did, and it's most trying. It was very kind of him to-_she broke off and crossed the incomplete sentence out vigorously, so that Tom wouldn't be able to read the original. Instead, she continued with the story of the audition. _A callback is an opportunity to get through to the final auditions. I never expected to be called back after my first audition! And the idea of playing any Austen character is heavenly, even Charlotte. _Pride and Prejudice _was my favourite book when I was fourteen. Of course it was; it was everyone's, you know, or at least every girl's. Even Nancy's. Not a chance that I'll get through to the actual cast, of course-Elizabeth and her understudy are both far better trained that I am-but still! _

_But I'm very sure you don't want to hear my ecstasies about that. How goes the practice? Have you trained yourself to stop calling them victims yet, Dr Dudgeon? It's bad enough that you passed the habit onto Pip, who never calls them anything else in his letters. You know, before they married, Dick and Titty were talking about moving to Norfolk, though it would only be for a short while. Dick's been asked to work on some research project in Yarmouth, and of course Titty could never live in such a constrained place, so you may find them setting up camp in Horning or Potter. Even if they don't, I might be popping up in few months. I'm going to be a chorus girl on tour with _What Larks!, _and they're doing a week of shows in Norwich. Also, of course, your mother has given me an open invitation to stay whenever the mood takes me, and I have the strangest feeling that it may take me soon. The Lakes will seem very quiet when Nancy goes back to sea and Roger eventually gets round to enlisting with the RAF. It will be sad to come back to the Broads with the Admiral confined to town, though-_ because she had just realised how much she had committed herself to a visit, and she wasn't sure that she would be able to get away. She did hope that she could visit them some time, though-it seemed that she hadn't been to Norfolk in forever (though four months was closer to the truth_). I suppose we'll see? Best love, etc- Dot._

* * *

_Standing in the sunlight laughing_

_Hide behind a rainbow's walk_

_Slipping and a-sliding_

_All along the waterfall with you_

_My brown-eyed girl_

* * *

**EDIT: Rejigged Dec 09. Title from **_**Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter**_**, by Fats Waller. First set of lyrics from **_**Almost Like Being In**_** Love (the version I have is the Nat King Cole one), and the second set is from **_**Brown-Eyed Girl**_** by Van Morrison (a song that I've always been convinced was written specifically with Dot in mind).**


	12. To Stand Alone

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything that you recognise, plus a few more things beside...**

**

* * *

**

_And there ain't_

_Ain't no stopping Nancy, babe_

'_Cause I've been deejaying_

_From I was fifteen year old_

_No there ain't no stopping Nancy now_

_

* * *

_

Nancy had to report for duty in Portsmouth in four days, and she was, though she would never have admitted it, nervous. Whilst she thoroughly missed being at sea, she had the impression that she was being treated with kid gloves this time around. If only she hadn't caught blasted malaria during her first captaincy. They'd been so stiff and unyielding about the whole thing, her superiors. First they hadn't wanted her in the Navy at all, then they'd tried to block her from being promoted, and the fuss that there'd been about handing her control of a ship was unlike anything she'd experienced before. Nancy knew perfectly well that she was something new and dangerous for the Navy; she was representing women, and it was her job to make sure others could come after her. She'd been doing perfectly well until she'd taken ill. Honestly, one little brush with death and suddenly everyone was panicking and trying to get her discharged! She huffed as she brushed her teeth. Anyone could catch malaria. It wasn't as though it was limited to women.

Well, she would just have to do better this time. That was for sure. She dressed with speed, hoping to make it out of the door before the Great Aunt could catch her. There was no way she wanted to spend one of the last mornings of her leave being lectured. _Emmeline _was sitting in the beck, and she wanted to go for a sail by herself. She was sneaking out of the back door when-

"Ruth?"

Nancy half-considered making a run for it, but swallowed her inner savage and turned round reluctantly. "Yes, Aunt Maria?"

"Are you going out without breaking your fast?"

Odd. The battleaxe actually sounded a little concerned for her. "I was planning to- to- ah." She couldn't think quickly enough, and wished for a moment that she had Dot's creative ability.

"I see. Would you like to eat with me? I do not believe anybody else is awake yet."

Nancy was about to deny any hunger, when her stomach growled furiously. She sighed. "Yes, Aunt Maria."

Because even Cook wasn't awake at this early hour, Nancy played the good great-niece and made kedgeree, knowing that the G.A. still held to Victorian ideals about starting the day heartily. She served it to her surprised and pleased aunt with the pale morning sun spilling through the window, before tucking in to her own plate.

"This is very nice," the G.A. commented after several minutes, not bothering to disguise her confusion. "When last I heard, you were still shunning anything domestic."

Nancy grinned wryly. "As a nineteen-year-old female Petty Officer, you don't complain when they put you in the galley five watches out of six. You're just grateful to be there at all." Actually, she had complained volubly, but she had still done it. Perhaps she had cooked five watches out of six, or scrubbed the decks, but then if she was allowed to man the rigging or even take the wheel for that one other watch-well, it was all worth it for that, wasn't it?

"Ah." They ate in silence for a few more moments. The G.A. left at least half a portion of the food left, and looked at Nancy's rapidly-emptying plate in disgust. "Ruth, your manners, _please_!"

"Sorry," Nancy said sheepishly, trying not to belch. This was all horribly awkward. There were a few more uncomfortable minutes as Nancy finished her last few mouthfuls (trying to do so as calmly and politely as she could). In the end, the G.A. broke the silence again. "Why do you do it?" she asked. Though there was a definite edge of disapproval to her voice, it sounded to Nancy as though she was trying too hard to conceal curiosity.

"Why do I sail? Because I was born for it," she began, but decided that this was not the best route to take. "I do love it, more than anything. But that's not the main reason; I mean, I could just be captain of some little, insignificant merchant ship or something, and not put anybody's hackles up-" (glancing at her elderly relatively, she decided that maybe even that would put some people's hackles up) "-and that would be fun. I would love it. When Peggy and I were younger, we used to talk quite seriously about getting a ship of our own and sailing around the world for adventures and high jinks." She shrugged off the glare. "It wouldn't mean anything, though. Think about it, Aunt Maria. You're glad that women can go to university, aren't you? Once upon a time they couldn't."

The Great Aunt nodded slightly, simply to show that she was listening and had accepted that. "And you know what? I bet that those first women who lobbied to be allowed in... I'm sure that their great aunts disapproved of them, because it wasn't the done thing." She was trying very hard not to sound aggravated.

"Ruth!" her aunt cut her off. "Do you really think that is the reason that I don't like your..." She paused. "Your... profession?" Nancy shrugged again. "Ruth..." Looking at the table, she then looked across at her great-niece and fixed her with a look that had very little of disapproval, and, surprisingly, a glimmer of affection in it. "I am an unmarried woman, Ruth." Bewildered, Nancy darted a glance at the G.A.'s hand. No ring. She didn't see what that had to do with anything, though. "I am an unmarried woman and I have no children." It seemed to be difficult for her to pronounce the words. "When I was twenty, a man from my brother's school asked me to marry him, and I turned him down because I thought that, one day, I would meet a man whom I loved. I never did. I was never a bride. I was never a mother. I never had any power and I never had anyone to love." Nancy looked sharply at her aunt's eyes, but they were entirely free of tears-only bitter regret.

"You raised Mother and Uncle Jim," she pointed out helpfully.

"I did." The emotion in the G.A.'s voice was shut off immediately, but she fixed disconcertingly piercing eyes onto Nancy's own. "I am... _extremely_ concerned for you, Ruth. I don't want you to be a white-haired old woman with no-one to call your own, and what man is going to marry a Navy captain? It is a source of... of great worry to me."

Nancy had half a mind to reach across the table and squeeze her aunt's hand, but she didn't think it would be appropriate. "I... thank you, Aunt Maria," she said sincerely. "But I love my job. Maybe, one day, I'll get married, but for now..." She grinned. "The Navy is my husband, and my ship is my baby. They might not love me back, but I'm serving my country and crew, sailing a beautiful old girl for my gold, and changing the world in a small, important way; I am happy with that."

The older woman gave a brisk nod. "I had made up my mind to share this with you," she announced crisply. "I see that you are not to be persuaded. I wash my hands of the whole affair." She rose and began to clear up her breakfast things. Nancy took over the job, head spinning, and forgot all about _Emmeline _waiting in the beck.

* * *

It was half past eight when Nancy eventually left for her early morning sail, and, though she enjoyed her small oasis of peace, she found herself sailing over to Holly Howe instead of Wild Cat, as she'd originally intended. As she moored her dinghy and jumped ashore, she slammed into John, apparently about to embark on his own early morning solitude. She apologised for interrupting him, and he laughed.

"I'd far rather have your company; you know that, Nancy." He offered an arm, but wasn't hurt when she didn't take it. "Do you want to go for a voyage?"

They talked it over for a bit, and decided to go for a walk instead. Holly Howe was at the base of a big, beautiful peak, and they hadn't climbed her together in a good six years. The sun was already high in the sky, and they set off, too content to bother with proper conversation. It was beautifully as though they were fourteen again, except that there were only two of them now.

After about an hour of this companionable silence, they reached the steeper part of the hill. John took the lead, since he'd climbed the peak twice by himself in the past few weeks, and footing could be a bit slippery in some places. The path fell away either side, an increasingly sheer drop as they got further up. Eventually, it turned into a scramble, and John went up with no more exertion than a bit of heavy breathing and perspiration. He reached the top of the scramble (almost the top of the whole peak), and lay down on his stomach to make sure Nancy made it up.

"You're stronger than me," she grunted, halfway up the rocks and clinging tightly to her handholds. "Not right." She felt the rock with her right foot, weight on the left, and found a hold. This was harder than anything she'd climbed in a while, but she was definitely notgoing to say so.

He grinned, and resisted the urge to lend a hand. "My manly muscles."

Nancy rolled her eyes, and grabbed for another hold. "Better... training... for... men," she replied, between breaths, and pushed up with her right foot, trying to make her position a bit steadier. Her left foot wasn't completely secure, and it was unnerving. Satisfied with the results, she reached up with her right hand, looking for another hold. She couldn't find one and she did _not _want to ask for help, so she moved her hand back to its previous nook. How frustrating. Looking up, she scanned the rock and saw a small crack. It would do, and she was nearly there. Anyway, John had found one, hadn't he?

Her weight successfully shifted from one foot to the other, she reached up and pushed two fingers into the hold she'd seen. Prematurely, she trusted herself to the crack in the rock.

It is a great testament to Nancy's courage that she did not scream. Instead, as she found herself slipping down the rock, she hollered. "JOHN!"

Even as she shouted it, his hand closed around her flailing wrist and she saw a very grim expression on his face. "Got you, Captain Nancy," was all he said. She gripped his wrist in return, before changing her mind. Not wanting to pull him over the Cliffside with her, she opened her fingers again, and asked calmly which hold he'd used. Anyone else would have hefted her bodily over the rocks. John was wiser. He guided her hand across the rock face and showed her the hold. He didn't move his own hand until he'd tucked her fingers firmly into position and seen that she had a good grip. Even then, he left his arm a few inches away from hers, in case she needed an extra handhold.

"Thank you," Nancy said, offhandedly, and pushed herself up over the last little bit.

"Not a problem." He paused, and, once she'd settled herself comfortably, he seized the hand that had fallen and shook it firmly several times. She was trembling, despite her bravado, and when they stood up, her feet were unsteady. John gently supported her, and she didn't shake him off until she'd found her footing. They walked a few paces before John stopped. "Nancy."

She was slightly ahead of him on the narrow path, and turned to face him. He wrapped both arms around her waist and gave her a very determined, if embarrassed, hug. "That was a little frightening," he whispered into her ear by way of explanation, knowing that she would never admit to it first.

"A little," she agreed in as unaffected a tone as she could manage, despite her flaming cheeks, and tugged herself away. At least his face was as red as she thought hers probably was. "Thank you. I mean, really."

They didn't talk the rest of the way to the top, as they had not for the first part of their journey. However, the reasons for it were vastly different this time.

As they reached their destination, Nancy flopped down and announced that she was parched. John had been planning to sail for most of the day before he had bumped into his friend, so he fished inside his knapsack and passed her a bottle of ginger beer. Nancy raised an eyebrow. "We're allowed to drink the real stuff now," she said drily, "and you still choose this?"

"I like it," he replied defensively. "Anyway, I was planning on being by myself. It's bad to drink by yourself."

Now both eyebrows were raised. "Giminy, you're in the _Navy_."

They laughed, and Nancy took a swig from the bottle before handing it back. The air, which had seemed thin and hot after Nancy's scrambling escapade (and John's reaction), cleared. Both were relieved, and, as they shared John's sandwich and orange, Nancy felt entirely comfortable again. Comfortable enough to ask an entirely _un_comfortable question, in fact.

"John?"

John, who was (not very) full of sandwich, orange, and ginger beer, had been on the point of falling asleep in the sunshine. He jerked back to attention at the sound of Nancy's voice. "Yes?"

"Do you think that I'm doing something wrong by pursuing a career instead of a family?"

"Absolutely not." His attention, which had mostly been on the view, switched to her. "Why?"

"I talked to a sad old lady once. She had done great things with her life-" (not entirely a lie; Nancy considered her mother and her uncle very important) "-but she was just full of regret that she had never married or had children. Most people think it's a woman's purpose to, you know. Breed."

John blushed at her bluntness. _Should be used to it by now, _he thought with a half-smile. "When have you ever worried about most people? Anyway, you haven't sworn off marriage and children altogether, have you?"

_I'm supposed to be waiting for someone I love, but after this morning, I'm feeling a bit less sure about that. _"She said that no-one would want to marry a naval captain."

To his ears, she actually sounded more scared than she had when she was falling off the rock. "Mother and Father married when he was a captain."

"You know what I mean!"

"People will want to marry you, Nancy. What about-" _(say the right thing!) _"-Timothy?" The angry noise Nancy made at that comment told him that he had not, in fact, said the right thing. "Oh, buck up, Captain. You don't need someone else to make you special or loved; you're fantastic enough as you are. Anyway, if you haven't found the right man in ten years, I'll marry you myself. We can have three babies and a cottage by the sea." He laughed. "How's that for a promise?"

* * *

_I declare my independence _

_From the critics and the stones_

_I can find my revolution_

_I can learn to stand alone_

* * *

**A/N: Yes. I am a terrible person and this story had not been updated since the dark ages. Two years! I do apologise enormously. My life has been crazy, mad, topsy-turvy, wonderful, and ridiculous since the last update; additionally, my computer got wiped and so I lost several thousand words of this story. My inspiration for it seemed to go as well. I am very sorry, but I do at least have the next chapter ready to post. It should be up soon. And I have rewritten (again) the first chapters. I'm a very different woman and a very different writer to two years ago; hopefully, it's an improvement in both areas.**

**That wasn't what this chapter was supposed to be! I hope it wasn't too gushy-and don't worry, the Great Aunt isn't going to become all sentimental now. I just found myself playing with the idea of a common ground between her and Nancy. Oh, by the way, hopefully it's obvious-but Nancy's dinghy is named for Emmeline Pankhurst (she refused to have a boat named **_**Christabel**_**, however noble the inspiration)**_**. **_

**On the hug... well, I always hated the way that after one of the characters had been in mortal peril in the books, the others would simply shake his or her hand earnestly. Giminy, they even do it in **_**Missee Lee**_**, after Nancy and Peggy have been kidnapped by pirates and held captive! So I thought-well, if my best friend had fallen over a cliff and narrowly avoided breaking his lovely face on the rocks, I would want to hug him for a bit. Sorry if out of character?**

**Title and second set of lyrics taken from **_**One Girl Revolution**_** by Superchic[k]; first set of lyrics taken from **_**Ain't No Stopping Nancy **_**by Sister Nancy.**

**And if you have all abandoned me, I totally deserve it. But I'm going to carry on updating anyway.**


	13. Spinning the Whole Planet

**Disclaimer: I don't own them, and even if I did, my publisher would have sacked me for not meeting deadlines. All kudos to Ransome! (P.S... Aren't you happy that there's now an S&A section? :D)**

* * *

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_And this house just ain't no home_

_Anytime she goes away_

There was always a distinct smell in the air on days when Nancy was leaving; her big, battered trunk was standing in the hallway, having already seen more of the world than that of her mother. Peggy was in the garden, crying very quietly and very determinedly, and Cook was roasting duck in the kitchen, because it was Nancy's favourite. Nancy and her mother were in the former's bedroom, with Molly Blackett busying herself in Nancy's vividly-coloured, old-fashioned carpet bag, ensuring that she had everything she needed.

"Giminy, I _am_ twenty-four," Nancy observed, with a laugh. She was half-dressed and trying to find her second-favourite blouse; it was one of the things she always left at home, but she was taking it this time. "Mum, do you really think that I'm still incapable of packing? More to the point, will you be there when I'm hopping back on board after a stay in China?" Locating the blouse at the back of her wardrobe, she tugged it out and slipped it on. The Walkers were coming for a goodbye meal, and then John and Titty would drive Nancy to the station. The newlyweds had actually cut their honeymoon short so that the bride would be back in time to say goodbye to her friend; Nancy hadn't told Titty how touched she was by that.

"Do you have a toothbrush?" Mrs Blackett asked her, ignoring the question and instead focussing all her attentions on the carpet bag. Thinking of her little girl alone, at the head of a naval vessel in China, did not make her especially happy.

"Yes," Nancy replied, as patiently as possibly; it was her last day, and she knew that she would run off of these memories for weeks and months until she saw home again, so why spoil them? Passing a careless brush through her hair, she fiddled with the top button on the blouse, before deciding to leave the neck open in the heat. "Don't fret, Mum; I'll be fine, and you know that full well." Perhaps the weather necessitated hair up, as well. She whizzed it into a careless knot, and instantly felt cooler.

"What are you reading on the train?" There was a lack of easily-digestible fiction in Nancy's bag.

"I'll be going over my brief for the next post, since you ask... and it's not in my bag because I'm not supposed to let civilians see it. I've got a private berth." She patted her pocket, and was perfectly willing to head downstairs. Having voiced this opinion, she was encouraged to sit down by her mother.

Nancy perched on her bed and crossed her legs impatiently, anticipating a couple of tears. They had this talk every time she went away, and she would always remember it fondly in dark, lonely moments, but that didn't make the doing of it any easier. Her mother closed the bag, and sat down next to her.

"I'll write," she promised, anticipating her mother's first question. When Nancy said that she would write, what she really meant was that she would keep a personal log. Every time it reached a suitable length, she posted the volume to her mother and Peggy. She struggled with detailed, emotive letters; reading a missive from Dot or Titty always made her feel rather inferior and accidentally cold-hearted. Instead, she recorded her general doings in a little exercise book, and considered that sufficient for the family. It was prosaic, practical stuff; Nancy could never shake the habit of recording the weather and the time of writing.

"Do," her mother encouraged urgently. They sat in a melancholic silence for a few moments, before Mrs Blackett spoke again. "Are you happy in the Navy, Nancy?"

"Most of the time."

"I am so proud," her mother began, and then didn't seem to know what to say. "Nancy... I do love you, you know."

"I love you too, Mum." Nancy leant her head on her mother's shoulder for just a split second. Then she sat up and shook herself, firmly. "I need to get cracking," she announced. "Come on, Mum dear. Can't be late."

"If you get into a situation where.... you know... you think it might not be... well, just know that I will never regret your choice, whatever happens, because I'd rather you live a short, happy life than a long, lonely one. Though try to live both a long and happy one, won't you?" Mrs Blackett gave a determined nod to conclude her sentence, although there were tears beginning to make themselves known. "And dear... please don't feel pressured into marrying anyone."

That was new. That wasn't normally part of the talk. Nancy shot her mother a quizzical, slightly irritated look. Why was everyone suddenly talking to her about marriage? Was twenty-four a magical, marriageable age? Had she suddenly become an official spinster?

"I won't pretend that I don't want little grandchildren dotted around my feet, but I want you to be happy, darling; please don't feel like you need to bring a man home to satisfy propriety."

Nancy blinked, and then decided to confide, if only to reassure her mother that she was, in some respects, as traditional as the next girl. "Tell you a secret, Mother."

It was Mrs Blackett's turn to look confused (and rather worried. Nancy's secrets generally came in the form of lightening bolts from the blue).

"Sometimes I think that I'd rather love to get married, if the right man would have me. Fleeting fancy, of course, but there it is. And children, too." She stood, and strode across the room restlessly. It was bizarre, but during any conversation about marriage, her empty ring finger always ached. "And most of the time, I don't want to marry anyone just yet." Walking back over to her mother, she kissed the top of her head, and then left the room before an awkward silence could choke any more honesty from her.

* * *

Watching her little girls eating roast duck and drinking wine made Molly Blackett feel positively elderly. Of course, she always felt this way when Nancy was leaving home, especially in the past year, when Nancy had been both away from home and so terribly ill; her girl showed no signs of malaria now, sitting with John and Peggy, one on each side, and laughing around a mouthful of dinner. Soon there would be hugs goodbye, and she wouldn't think about the fact that she wouldn't see her oldest daughter at Christmas time; soon, the house would be void of storms and whirlwinds again; soon, soon. She took another mouthful of food, and didn't think about it.

John and Titty politely took themselves to the garden as the others bid their friend goodbye. Roger gave the captain a hearty handshake, and Susan dropped kisses on each cheek. They left, and then Peggy; this was harder.

"Love you, Peggy," she mumbled into her sister's hair, as she hugged her. "See you again soon."

They broke apart, and two pairs of reddish eyes looked at each other. "This doesn't get any easier," Peggy complained, with a half-laugh, half-choke. She put a hand on her sister's shoulder, and smiled weakly. "I love you, Nancy." She clapped her sister's shoulder, and then let go, so that Nancy could hug her mother.

"I'll come back, Mum," Nancy said firmly. "I'll barrel back into your life with a husband and a son or two, and you'll wonder how I did it so quickly and where all the peace went."

"I'll certainly make the most of the quiet," Mrs Blackett promised her. They hugged for a moment, and then the latter tutted. "You're going to miss your train, dear."

"Can't have that," she replied, taking the excuse as offered. "I'll see you before you know it." And then, with a turn of her heel and a determined expression, she walked out of Beckfoot for a year or two.

* * *

"Look after yourself, Captain," John told Nancy seriously, as he helped her hand her trunk over to the porter. Of course, Nancy could have hefted the thing herself, but she didn't protest; it wasn't worth it. Titty had disappeared into the ladies' to get some tissue. Nancy thanked the porter and turned back to face her friend. The station was awash in steam and smoke, and she could scarcely hear what John was saying over the noise of the engines. She nodded and touched his arm.

"You too, Commodore." It was always impossible to know what to say in this situation; how was it that she and John hadn't seen each other for three years before this, and yet they discovered that they were still as thick as thieves? Still as difficult to leave? She wouldn't cry, and she ducked her head for a moment, before looking up again. "Swallows and Amazons forever," she pledged with a grin, opting for the easiest escape.

"Forever," John echoed, without quite the same cheery optimism. It is very, very hard to send one's best friend off to fight in battles the world over, and he didn't want to think about Nancy enduring... well, the same sort of things that he faced at sea. He handed her the sandwich that he'd bought at the little station shop, and an envelope. Regarding it curiously, she stuck the latter in her pocket, and put her hand on his for a moment, confused about what to do.

"Next time I see you, you might really be a commodore," she predicted, without a hint of sarcasm or jest in her voice. John surged with gratitude at her belief in him. "Well, keep in touch."

"Definitely," he agreed haltingly, wondering how Nancy could charge back out of his life saying _keep in touch. _Didn't they deserve something a bit better than that? "I'll keep in touch, Nancy. You and I... good friends, and all that," was all he managed. Nancy nodded in acknowledgement.

Titty arrived back from the ladies', carrying a wad of tissue, which she stuffed in her pocket for the journey home. She threw her arms around Nancy and hugged her tightly, declaring that she loved her desperately, would miss her, and was incredibly proud of her. John was half jealous of how simple it was for Titty to say goodbye. There were nothing stumbling, awkward; everything that needed to be said had been said.

Once his sister had relinquished Nancy, and the train was about to go, he felt somewhat braver. She shook hands with him very heartily, and he impulsively bent his head and kissed her cheek. It didn't mean anything; he kissed Peggy on the cheek whenever he said goodbye to her, and Mother, and Mrs Blackett. Nancy didn't seem to think there was anything amiss. She boarded the train and whooped. "Death and glory!" she shouted happily from the window, before walking to her berth. And crying. And crying.

* * *

"You kissed her," Titty observed, as she and John walked back to the car.

"On the cheek. Like Mother or you," John agreed, and clammed up completely. Titty wisely did the same.

* * *

Nancy eventually shook herself, told herself to grow up, and fished in her pocket for a handkerchief. Her fingers brushed John's envelope, and she pulled it out along with the hanky. Having dried her nose, blown her nose with a resounding harrumph, and taken a restorative sip of tea from her flask, she opened the envelope with anticipation.

_In case I didn't quite manage it at the station: You're my best friend, Nancy. Have fun in China-it's not so distant as all that- and say hello to Missee Lee; maybe you can draw me a better map than this? S&A forever, even before the Navy. Don't tell them that though. Yours, John._

Enclosed with the short note was a map he had drawn of Missee Lee's islands. Nancy was transported back to that night when she and John had lain on the deck, in the dark, and clutched hands in a rare attack of fear. Everything had come out all right that time; China didn't seem so far away after all, thinking about it. She folded the map back up around the note, and stuck it in her bag for a gloomy Saturday. Pausing for a moment to take stock of the holiday, she resolutely locked it away with the note and the map, and pulled out her briefing. Time to focus.

* * *

"How was it?" Dick called, as Titty came in that evening. "You all right?" He was sitting in their guest room, which utterly lacked a bed and, between them, was actually half laboratory, half studio. As his wife removed her hat and shook out her curls at the door, he closed his notebook and flipped the light on his microscope off. Another time.

"The goodbye was nothing compared to the journey home," Titty said sadly, entering their room as he stood up and took two mostly-clean mugs off of the shelf. "It was like being in a confined space with..." She paused, and tried to think of an appropriate comparison. "With Mother," she realised eventually, "saying goodbye to Father all those times, and knowing that he might not-he might not-"

Dick didn't pretend he understood that particular comparison, and he squeezed Titty's shoulder, remembering that eventually, those half-fears had been proved valid. Thoughtfully, he'd brewed a pot of tea in anticipation of her return; thoughtlessly, he'd become engrossed in his work and not realised that the time was speeding past; as he poured it, he observed that the tea was tepid.

"Never mind; I'd rather have a glass of wine anyway." She pulled her stockings off, and wriggled her toes, before wondering. "Did you feel like that when I went to Europe?"

Dick was not good at expressing his emotions. He looked at Titty for a moment, and nodded slightly. There was a kind of respectful silence, before he broke it. "Wine?"

"Best thing I've heard all day. Let's."

_And she's always gone too long_

_Anytime she goes away_

_Wonder this time where she's gone_

_Wonder if she's gone to stay_

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone-_

_And she's always gone too long_

* * *

**Title taken from **_**With Me **_**by Lonestar. Lyrics taken from **_**Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone -**_**the Michael Jackson version. **

** _Cadence Kismet_: Thank you so much for your review! I am so flattered that you checked for updates on Boxing Day :) It's good to know that you liked the characterisation of the GA-I really ended up admiring her by the end of Picts & Martyrs. I agree that she and Nancy are both very determined women!**** Also, I'm very glad that you liked the John/Nancy fluff. Hoped you liked the angst in this chapter as well. Working on the next chapter-it's nearly finished, just needs polishing, so it should be up soon. :D**


	14. Different Kinds of Brave

**Different Kinds of Bravery**

**Thank you so much for all your reviews last chapter! It's lovely to know that you haven't all abandoned me. The next chapter is being stubborn-I have a little bit of writers' block-but it should be up soon. Hope you like this one. Oh, and I had a question about character ages. That question will be answered by review reply, but for anyone else who is confused, I direct you to the "Dramatis Personae" at the start of the story. The characters' ages and my reasoning behind it is explained there :) Happy reading!**

* * *

_Because the vision softly creeping_

_Left its seeds whilst I was sleeping_

_And the vision that was planted in my brain_

_Still remains_

* * *

Dorothea Callum tumbled out of her bed at Dixons' farm, still half-asleep. A half-packed suitcase sat in her room by the window, waiting for her to decide on her next destination.

"Good morning," she greeted the Lake happily from her window. There was a light fog hanging over the view, heralding the arrival of autumn, and the sun hadn't risen properly. Dot pushed her wayward fringe out of her face, and smiled at the morning. In general, she was a late-to-bed, late-to-rise girl, but today, she was anticipating a response of some kind from the theatre, and she wanted to be awake to receive it. After dressing and brushing her hair, she wandered downstairs, nearly bumping into Mrs Dixon. "Morning."

Mrs Dixon (a little less steady on her feet than she used to be) returned the greeting, and walked solidly into the kitchen. Dot didn't feel like eating anything quite yet. Walking to the door, she tugged a hat from the hatstand and slipped it on over her long, loose hair. Time for some early morning air, she decided.

Despite her expensive boots, Dot headed for the cowshed. The farm was scarcely running as such these days; the Dixons were getting older, and business was slow, but they still kept three cows and a handful of chickens. Dot considered herself almost a personal friend to Bella, Bobbie, and Beatrice, the cows, and, as she approached the shed, Beatrice put a velvety nose up in acknowledgement. Stroking it, Dot wondered what her schoolmarms would make of this. The cowshed smelt distinctly of... well, _cows, _and it was damp and dingy in the extreme. "I should be hearing back from the theatre today," she told the cows, with a note of anticipation. "I dare say they won't have accepted me-but then, stranger things have been known to happen." The cows didn't really respond, so Dot bid them a good day, and left, her shoes muddied.

Whatever the case was, she knew she would be leaving the Lake soon. The whole place was emptying out; it felt much quieter without Nancy anyway. Perhaps Horning, then. Even though her brother and sister-in-law (how very _odd _it felt to think that) would not be there after all, Mrs Dudgeon had invited her down for the village's autumn fair. Every year, Tom's mother oversaw the preparations, and she wanted a bit of help this year. Dot loved Mrs Dudgeon almost as much as she did her own mother, and she would be more than happy to oblige.

* * *

John knocked on Peggy's door. He hadn't seen her in a couple of days and his leave was coming to an end; he wanted to make sure that she and Susan had everything sorted out for their big move to London.

"Come in!"

He pushed the door open, and couldn't help but notice how much neater it was than Nancy's. Of course, Peggy had only been in there since the G.A. had left, but it was still immaculate. "Hello, Peg."

She was lying on her bed and flicking through _Sense and Sensibility, _but when she saw who her guest was, she snapped the book shut hastily and sat up. "Sorry, John, wasn't expecting you. I don't know what Aunt Maria would say if she knew I had a young man in my bedroom."

John coloured at the implication, but simply shrugged. "Your mother told me where you were, so I suppose she doesn't mind."

Peggy slid herself off of the bed and slipped her feet into a pair of shoes. "Well, I do. Come on, let's go into the garden." She took John's arm without it being offered, but then thought better and let go.

The garden was beautiful that day; they could hear the rushing of the beck, and the sun was beating down just enough to warm them through.

"Anything to report?" she asked John, which was Nancy's way of asking how someone was; she'd borrowed it by accident.

"I just wanted to see that you and Su had everything planned for the move." Neither Peggy nor Susan was particularly good at organising paperwork, despite childhoods spent poring over charts; John had been helping them with the process since he'd been back at the Lake. He would be gone by the time they came to move, Peggy reminded herself firmly.

"I think so," she replied, mentally scanning through her suitcases and seeing nothing lacking. "The deposit is paid."

"Good. Good."

He seemed very distracted, and Peggy remembered him driving Nancy to the station two days ago; perhaps his mind was still on that. That was as things should be.

* * *

"Dot?"

Dot jumped up from her cup of tea, nearly spilling it in anticipation. Mrs Dixon had put her head into the kitchen where her guest was sitting, and there was an envelope in her hand. Dot, who had been unable to take any breakfast due to her spinning stomach and excited ambition, tried very hard not to snatch the envelope. She tore it open with trembling hands, ripping the letter very slightly in her haste.

Mrs Dixon watched the younger woman purse her lips in concentration, drawing her brows together as she scanned the content of the letter. As Dot reached the end, she visibly slumped. "Not what they're looking for," she told her observer. "I didn't think so, but then I hoped- I hoped- but it doesn't matter. At least I made it past the first set of auditions, hm?"

The question didn't seem to warrant an answer, so Mrs Dixon simply patted Dot on the shoulder. "Spitting image of tha' mother," she commented for the umpteenth time. "She were always an optimist."

Dot smiled slightly, and stuck the letter in her pocket. "I think that I'm going to go for a walk," she said quietly, and slipped past the woman in the doorway, but turned back for a minute. "Oh-I will be leaving the Lake come Friday," she informed her host. "Thank you so, so much for your hospitality; I know Dick appreciated it as well," (Dick had been staying with the Dixons before the wedding) "but he may have been too caught up with everything to say so."

"Pleasure was ours," Mrs Dixon replied sincerely, and that touched Dot; it was the closest she had ever known either half of the couple come to being demonstrative. "Where next?"

"Oh, I don't know." Dot paused at the door, whilst she pulled her boots on. "I suppose I'll have to work out where home is eventually, but I dare say Horning will do for now." Her footwear secured, she wished Mrs Dixon a good day and left before she had to answer any more questions.

The air was pleasantly Septemberish, warm with a bit of a nip in the breeze. Dot wandered away from the farm through a wood, enjoying the weather despite her recent disappointment. It was so childish to be disappointed about it, when she had known perfectly well that the other auditionees had all been the recipients of far more training than herself; she shouldn't have expected anything different! She scolded herself sternly;Nancy or Titty wouldn't be acting like this over a silly letter!Pulling a late golden bloom off of a hedgerow, she tucked it behind her ear and ran her hands over her eyes, which were aching and suspiciously watery.

Threading her way through the trees, Dot eventually found a wide, flat stump and sat down on it, tucking her legs up underneath her, and humming the words to some old harvest hymn under her breath. The leaves around her were just starting to redden around the edges, and she had always loved autumn; she found something about the season very homely and comforting. As she observed the scene, she perked up a little. It was still sad to be overlooked, but she'd always loved Horning at this time of year, and she was very ready to move on to the next thing.

* * *

John shuffled his feet. "Nothing else to say, really, Peggy. Just... I really came to say goodbye."

"Oh, of course," Peggy agreed blandly. She was going to miss him dreadfully; in all their time working through papers, they'd become good friends again, though not on the same level as they had been once. "When do you go?"

"Thursday." There was really nothing else to say. "Take care of yourself and Su, won't you, Peggy?"

She smiled, and she definitely wasn't going to cry; she'd cried enough when she said goodbye to Nancy, and at least she had reason then. "I'm _very_ good at looking after myself," she said lightly. "And I love Susan like my own sister."

"Funny, I do too." John paused, awkwardly, not knowing what else to do. Neither did she.

There was a moment of silence, whilst John looked at the floor and Peggy observed him quietly. This was too much, this embarrassed pause; she had to have it out with him. "This is why people think we're going together," she said in the end, trying to sound as though she was amused, when really she wasn't at all.

"They... what?"

Peggy put a finger under his chin, and tipped his face back upwards. "It's all around the neighbourhood that we're a hop, skip and a jump away from engagement."

"I say... well, I mean... I didn't know... I mean, I..." John turned an interesting colour, and looked at the floor_. _Again. "I am _so_ sorry, Peggy, if I ever gave that... er. It's just that we're..."

She laughed and cut him off; his distress and embarrassment were quite endearing, but she had no desire to torment him. "Wrong Amazon, John?" When he didn't say anything, she patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. You were trying to impress her even at Pike Rock all those years ago, weren't you? And ever since then, you've not even looked at anyone else. I would be a fool indeed if I had thought you were paying court to me." _A fool indeed._

"I'm not paying court to _anyone_!" John objected. "Why must I always be paying court to someone?"

Peggy shrugged. "Well, that's the beauty of you and Nancy, isn't it? You don't have to. You're past that stage, long since."

"I don't... I'm _not..._Oh, bother it all, I'm _not_. I hope you like your house, Peggy." John's tone was probably a deal sharper than the situation warranted, but Peggy was inclined to forgive him. "See you in... well, in six months or so, I suppose." Bending his head, he kissed the air next to her cheek.

"Have a good time!" Peggy called after him, as he beat a hasty retreat. She went back inside her house, and sat back down with her book, but didn't read it for a while.

A fool indeed. A fool indeed.

* * *

_But in the end he needs a little bit more than me_

_He needs his fantasy, and freedom._

_I know him so well._

* * *

**Title taken **_**Peter Pan **_**by J. (other than S&A and Chronicles of Narnia, possibly the best children's book ever written, though I believe that this quote is actually from the film version); first set of lyrics taken from **_**Sound of Silence **_**by Simon and Garfunkel; second set of lyrics taken from **_**I Know Him So Well **_**by Whitney and Cissy Houston.**

**A/N: Sorry, another angsty chapter! The good times will be back next chapter, though, as we follow Dot to Horning and the Dudgeons.**


	15. Smile Away All Your Sadness

**I have to confess that this is really just a filler chapter-it was very difficult to write for some reason! Hopefully should be into the swing of things again by next chapter...**

* * *

_I miss the village green_

_The church, the clerk, the steeple_

_I miss the morning dew, fresh air and Sunday school_

* * *

"My goodness, you just get lovelier every time I see you, Dot," Mrs Dudgeon said. The younger woman had just stepped off a train from London, and was, indeed, looking taller and willowier and generally more beautiful. Pip Dudgeon, who had grown a preposterous amount even in the time since the wedding, grabbed her and gave her a hug.

"So do you," replied Dot, honestly. Mrs Dudgeon's blonde hair was gradually becoming streaked with white, but her hostess' eyes were bright and lively, and she had little laughter-lines on her face.

"Am I prettier too?" the youngest Dudgeon asked, parodying a squeaky "girlish" voice.

"Much," Dot told him, rolling her eyes and smiling. "Taller, at least." Tom's brother was as unlike him as it was possible to be, but Dot was very fond of the little rascal.

Mrs Dudgeon laughed. "He gets bigger every day. Even Tom didn't grow quite this quickly. My husband has the car, so I brought Pip to help with the cases."

"I am _very _helpful," Pip agreed, and hauled Dot's trunk behind him. "Tom sends best wishes, but he's off curing victims."

"Don't call them that," Dot and Mrs Dudgeon sighed simultaneously. The latter looked at the former wryly. "We'll have to gang up a little on these boys of mine, Dorothea. Make them behave themselves."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea."

It wasn't long before they reached the Dudgeons' house. Tom had moved into his own damp, crumbling cottage a few weeks previously, Mrs Dudgeon explained. Dot had actually already known-he'd written to her-but she didn't bother to clarify. She would have his old room as long as she wanted to stay there; he was coming to dinner that night, though. Dot was pleased. The last time she'd been in Horning, she'd been extremely busy writing and spending time with Mrs Barrable, and Tom had been even busier settling into his father's surgery. They had hardly seen each other at all, except at the wedding. In fact, it was months since she'd spent time with any of the Coots-except Dick, and he didn't really count.

* * *

"No, they went to Scotland for their honeymoon," Dot replied. "To the Outer Hebrides."

Dot was being (very gently) interrogated about Dick's wedding. Neither Dudgeon parent had been there, because with Tom gone, someone needed to run the practice. He had offered to take Pip with him (no trifling feat), and his mother had opted to stay behind, enjoying some peace and the company of her husband. As she explained to Dot, she couldn't possibly abandon him to his own cooking for a week.

"You would have been forced to exist on raw vegetables," Tom said with mock-sympathy, making Dot smile (rather guiltily, as she liked Dr Dudgeon enormously).

"What cheek! And in my own home!" Tom's father rolled up his napkin and tried to swat his son with it. Tom ducked out of the way, laughing.

"Yes, your repertoire extends to burnt toast and runny eggs as well, doesn't it?" Pip added.

Dr Dudgeon groaned. "Nowhere in any parenting book does it tell you that your children will gang up on you as soon as they're old enough to talk." (For the sake of fairness, it is here necessary to point out that Dr Dudgeon was a jolly decent cook-provided his primary tool was an open fire and the food was allowed to be a bit black on the edges). "How are _your _parents, Dorothea? Not being quite as badly bullied as me, I hope?"

"Not quite," Dot admitted, trying not to join in the brothers' laughter. "Dick is too besotted and I'm too busy; neither of us is any good at it anyway. They're well, thank you. Father is working as a guest lecturer at Kings' College in London, and Mother is in France visiting old school friends." She didn't say that her mother had been in France for several months, and still had not written to give her return date. "Gosh, I can't imagine still being in contact with my school friends in thirty years' time. I'm scarcely in touch with them now." She had been part of a particularly vapid group of girls at school; she had been fond of them at the time, but they seemed rather silly now.

"I can't even remember who I was friends with at school," Tom agreed. "I scarcely spent any time there anyway, unless I absolutely had to. I was normally on the river."

"You must have done some work," Dot said. "You went to university, after all. Yes, please," as Dr Dudgeon offered her more wine. She sipped it gingerly; she hadn't quite learnt to like the taste yet, though she knew she was supposed to.

"Cambridge wouldn't have me, though." Tom didn't regret that at all. He was allowed to practice, wasn't he? He had loved Edinburgh.

"What's for pudding?" Pip asked, tiring of this at last, and that was sufficient to change the subject.

The pudding (apple and blackberry crumble) was delicious, and when Mrs Dudgeon rose to clear the table, Dot stood as well. "Please may I help you with the dishes?"

"Oh, I don't do the washing up, dear, I cook. Pip does the cleaning."

"It's Tom's turn," the younger Dudgeon protested. "He hasn't done it in weeks."

"I don't live here anymore," Tom reminded him dryly. "Guest's privilege. I'll do it if you want, though, Mother." He took the plates away from his mother. "Come on, Dot."

As Dot followed him through to the kitchen, carrying the crumble dish, she reflected gratefully that there had been none of that _you're a_ _guest _nonsense when she'd offered to help. It becomes very tiresome, especially when one is almost always a guest in someone else's home. It was _so_ nice to be in Horning again.

* * *

Heroically, Dorothea Callum managed not to groan. She hadn't worked for so many hours together since leaving school, and her head was spinning. Since that morning, she'd been the second member of Horning Autumn Fair Committee. From what Mrs Dudgeon had told her, the local WI normally provided a lot of help, but they'd shrunk significantly in number that year (from ten to two).

"This letter's finished," she said, pulling the paper from her typewriter, folding it, and sliding it into an envelope. "What's the direction?"

Mrs Dudgeon passed her address book over to Dot. "It's under _Acle Haberdashers_." The latter part of their day had been spent writing letters to various companies, asking for donations or reduced rates; the one Dot had just finished requested bunting. That morning, Dot had traipsed from shop to shop, making a note of which wanted stalls at the fair, and which were willing to donate something to the running of it. Mrs Dudgeon smiled to herself at the dramatically exhausted expression on her friend's face. Poor Dot; the girl hadn't done anything other than act and write stories in years, and it was probably good for her to exert herself a bit in another direction. "More tea?"

"Please," Dot said gratefully, helping herself to another steaming cupful from the pot in the centre of the table. She had knitted the (rather misshapen) tea cosy herself years ago in a needlework lesson; it had been a birthday present for Mrs Dudgeon. "And you?"

"Of course." Dot poured another cup of tea, and pushed it across the table. "I never asked you; Tom said something about you being a chorus girl doing a week of shows in Norwich. Did it fall through?"

Dot blushed. "I didn't like the costume," she admitted frankly. "I wouldn't have been happy if Tom or one of the Death and Glories had seen me in it; it was rather... bold." She looked into her cup of tea, and bit her lip, remembering how scandalised she had been at the fitting. "It wouldn't have looked out of place in a _caberet_," she explained in a shocked-sounding whisper.

Mrs Dudgeon chuckled at her tone. "What on earth did they say when you backed out?"

"They weren't very happy," Dot replied. "I found some assertiveness from somewhere or other, though-probably Port and Starboard, or Nancy-and didn't give them any choice." Suddenly sounding fiery, she added, "I've seen more material in a spool of thread. It's exploitation of women and I jolly well won't stand for it."

The mental image of vague, mild-mannered Dot turning into a little spitfire and monologuing about women's rights was slightly too much for Mrs Dudgeon, and she choked on a combination of tea and laughter. "Oh dear," she said eventually. "Never mind. There are always stories."

Dot smiled her agreement. "There are always stories."

* * *

Cuddled down in the grass outside his parents' home, stockings but no shoes, and reading a battered copy of _Wuthering Heights, _she was probably wet from the dew; Dot was making small, shivery noises, perhaps having reached a frightening part of the narrative. Tom grinned to himself as he found her.

"Dot?"

She completely ignored him, but Tom knew better than to be hurt. "Dot?" He spoke a little more loudly, and she jumped. "May I steal you away from Heathcliff for a few moments?" He extended a hand to help her up.

Snapping the book shut, she took the offered assistance, and stumbled to her feet. "Do you know where my shoes are?" she asked sheepishly. They spent the next few moments searching for the missing footwear, which was eventually discovered under a nearby hedge.

"It takes all sorts," Tom commented fondly. Dot smiled, and slipped a hand through the crook of his arm.

"Where are we going?" Since Dot didn't have a pocket, he took the novel from her and stuck it inside his jacket.

"Have you seen anything of Horning yet apart from my mother's paperwork and the inside of that book?" he asked. She shook her head, laughing. "Dad sent me outside for a break."

It was a very lovely day, with dew lingering longer than normal and cold, bright sunlight glancing off of the river. It was a perfect beginning-of-autumn morning. "I want to hear about your new novel."

Dot shrugged. "I've been writing a lot of short stories for magazines," she admitted. "I feel like a bit of a traitor to Art and the Muses and all that, but they do pay the bills. Hopefully, though... I've got a few little grains of inspiration written down. Maybe one of them will make it into novel form soon; seems ages since I wrote anything novel-length." Still smiling, she added, "at least _Outlaw _is doing well. Self-published never normally does." The Coots had clubbed together with the Admiral to publish a hundred and fifty copies of Dot's first novel for her sixteenth birthday. To everyone's shock (especially hers, as she hadn't even known what they were planning), the little book had been adopted by a publishing house and was still proving rather popular three years later.

"What sort of grains?"

She bit her lip, and her expression became somewhat faraway. "Oh, this and that; Titty was telling me about a marvellous deserted monastery that they saw on an island on their honeymoon. I think it sounds precisely the sort of place to set a story; maybe, during the Plague..." her words gathered speed, and she started waving her free hand around to emphasise her point. "Yes; maybe, during the years of the Black Death, they were safe from the plague because they were so isolated. They didn't even know about it, at least until a stranger washes up on the beach with black lumps all over the place."

"They have to work out what's wrong with him and who he is, because he has amnesia," Tom contributed, warming to the idea. "All the while, they have no idea of the terrible danger that has been introduced to their little community."

"Well, that's one idea," Dot said, wistfully, perfectly aware that it was mundane. "I just wish I could write a classic; every author wants to, you know."

"Well, keep writing passably until you're good enough to write a classic." Tom took a rather practical view of life. Dot nodded at the suggestion, not much liking it but understanding that it made sense. "They're certainly better than anything I could write, anyway."

She smiled at his loyalty. "Well, as if I could possibly fix a broken head!"

"It's not as hard as you might think. I'm sure you'd make a good nurse; even a doctor."

"I'd be sick," Dot replied accurately.

Tom didn't think she would be-Dot had shown herself to be a woman of fortitude numerous times over the years-but he let it go. "Do you want to see the Hovel?" (This was the unflattering way in which Pip had christened Tom's cottage, and it had sadly stuck).

"If only so that I can give it a better name," Dot said cheerfully. "Come on. Where is it?"

* * *

'_Twas there I met a girl called Daisy_

_And kissed her by the old oak tree_

_I miss the village green_

* * *

**Epically long A/N:**As a family, the Dudgeons are the closest think we see to "normal" in the books. It's obvious that Dr & Mrs adore each other, they have produced a mature and well-balanced son and an adorable baby, everybody lives together in the conventional fashion, and the whole group banter wonderfully, especially with Dot. In fact, that's one of my favourite scenes in the whole series-when Dot has breakfast with the Dudgeons. It's the closest we ever get to seeing Dot with _family _(not just Dick). Please tell me how I did at capturing family dynamics! Give me suggestions! I'm all ears... or eyes, I guess...

Also, I can't remember Dr Dudgeon's first name-or whether he was ever given one in canon. I do remember that Mrs Dudgeon is Deborah and Mr Farland is Frank, though. Anyone able to enlighten me?

Title comes from _Sweet Lady Genevieve_ by the Kinks, and lyrics come from _The Village Green_, also by the Kinks. (What can I say? I'm a massive fan).

The WI, for those not English, is the Women's Institute. I'm not posh enough to have grown up near one, but they make cakes, organise fairs, save the world, and sing _Jerusalem_. Oh, and enter the Chelsea Flower Show.

**_Cadence Kisme__t_**-I listened to the song, though I'm not generally a country music fan. You're right, it really did remind me of Nancy and Mrs Blackett-I added it to my Spotify playlist for this story... thanks for the recommendation! As for Dot... well, when I read the books, Nancy was absolutely everything that I aspired to be, and Dot was a fairly accurate description of who I was. They were my two favourite characters-I identified with Dot and so find her quite easy to write. Thanks for your review! Oh... and I never said that we would have to wait three years for John and Nancy to meet up again, just that they _haven't _seen each other for three years. See you next chapter :D


	16. Bring on the Wonder

**The usual apologies for delay. Life happens, you know? I'm actually writing this note at a little after four in the morning, having abandoned both my current assignment and the idea of sleeping any time soon. Next chapter about half-written: heading back to the Lakes, to our abandoned newlyweds. Also, the usual disclaimer: how I would **_**love **_**to have created these characters. Alas, I did not.**

**A brief note for the squeamish: this chapter contains rather un-Ransome-like stories about bodily fluids. I figure, hey, Tom is a doctor now; if it rings desperately untrue for anyone, please let me know.**

* * *

_I can't see the stars, anymore, living here_

_Let's go to the hills, where the outlines are clear_

_...Bring on the wonder._

* * *

The door to the Hovel opened with a satisfying storybook creak. Dot stood just outside for a moment, head tilted to the left, observing the cottage with interest. It had been pale yellow once, although the paint had cracked and bleached after many summers and winters. It seemed to be a bungalow, although she hoped that it had a mysterious loft with an ancient trunk inside. The shutters were very pretty, painted blue, and there was a rather wilted pot of flowers by the door. A rather faraway smile crept over Dorothea's face; this was beautifully rundown and perfectly dilapidated. She stepped inside eagerly, pleased to find the cottage snug but a little gloomy. It was just as she had hoped.

"More cheerful in the evenings with a fire going," Tom offered, feeling an irrational need to defend his house. It was only _Dot_, after all.

"Oh, I don't see how it could be more wonderful," she replied quickly, scanning the room and taking everything in. There seemed to be two rooms: they were standing in a parlour with a stove by the far door, an elderly wireless, and two threadbare chairs; another door led off to the side, presumably to Tom's bedroom. One of Dick's photographs of Teasel hung over the little hearth. She supposed there was an outhouse in the garden. The only new thing about the whole place was an expensive telephone, which she guessed was necessary for the practice, but which took away somewhat from the snug-as-a-bug atmosphere of the room. Glancing upwards, she was disappointed; there was no trap door, and therefore no abandoned attic.

"I can't offer you a cup of tea without firing up the stove." He looked around his home, trying to see it through Dot's eyes. He had no idea what she was so entranced by, but that, he supposed, was why she was the writer and he the doctor. "You're welcome to come by one evening for dinner, though. I promise I learnt to cook at university."

"Your mother said that you were good at it." Her voice still sounded as though it was coming from a long way away, but she turned to face him with a bright smile. "Maybe Pip and I can visit with you one evening." Carefully, she examined both easy chairs; to her great delight, she found that one had three patches in as many garish colours. She settled herself into it. "What do you do in the evening?"

"I don't have a free evening very often, Dot." He laughed. "Such is the life of a junior doctor. When I do, I tend to lift the eelpots with Harry Bangate, or go fishing with Dad."

Dot nodded to show that she was listening, and then veered suddenly off-track. "The Golden Duck!" she announced, sounding pleased. Maybe even a little triumphant.

"Beg pardon?" Tom felt a little giddy at the sudden change of subject.

"This house." She gazed up at him, not having moved from her chair. "I told you I would rename it. Well, I think it should be called _The Golden Duck_."

Tom frowned, confused. "If you could embellish upon that slightly...?"

"Oh, come on, Tom. Even we knocked a cricket ball around a few times at school, though the mistresses frowned upon it somewhat. None not out; out for a golden duck."

"Of course I played cricket at school; I just want to know why this house is a golden duck."

"Don't you think that it fits perfectly? It somehow conveys endearment and ramshackle-ness at the same time."

Tom started to laugh. "I suppose it does. It's certainly better than the Hovel." He perched on the arm of the other chair. "I say, Pip has a half-holiday on Friday; I'll ask Dad for the evening off and you could come around then."

"That would be perfect." She tucked a leg up underneath her. "How long do you have left for your break?"

Tom cast a glance at his wristwatch, and bolted for the door. "One minute exactly!"

Dot followed him slowly out into the sunshine. He was already running for the surgery, and she deftly caught the key that he tossed her. Although she didn't really see the need to lock a house in Horning, she did so obediently. "Enjoy the rest of your day, if I don't see you," she called after him, tucking the key into the waistband of her skirt. When she arrived at the Dudgeons' house herself, she laid the key by the kettle-Tom was certain to want a restorative cup before he left that evening-and then, with a sigh, realised that Heathcliff was still inside Tom's jacket. Taking it as gentle, unintentional reproof, she relocated Mrs Dudgeon and got back to work herself.

_Dear Mrs Barrable,_

_It seems I must start my letter with the news that half of Horning is pining after you! I saw the twins last night, and they told me to send their very best love; the Dudgeons asked me to say hello as well. Mr Tedder, who is positively antiquated now, has never forgotten your standing up to him over that incident with Tom and George Owden and the fistfight; I think he respects you for it. Oh, I wish I could paint you a picture of this place, but that is your gift, not mine. You would capture all the little nuances: that sunlight dancing on the water, catching on white reflected sails; Mrs Tilney's tiny, perfect houseboat, with the newly-painted sign; those little smiles between Dr and Mrs Dudgeon, the glances that show that they are still in love with one another. You know what I mean, Admiral, Horning is so _homey _and, whenever one arrives, it seems that everything is in the same comfortable groove that it always has been, and it only remains to slot back into one's normal role, just as if there was never any absence at all._

_Of course, there are some things that are ever so different. I don't think I truly believe that Tom has become a genuine grown-up doctor, even now. I saw his house for the first time yesterday, Admiral; you know he has a house? It's a dear, ancient thing, which is coming down around his ears but somehow still retains its charm. Maybe it retains its charm because it is so tumble-down, I don't know. At any rate, it's probably further away from the river than he would like, and I've seen more room in a pantry than in the whole cottage, but it's the sort of place where adventures happen. _

Dot settled her hat a little more firmly over her hair. (Not in two tails today; she had turned it up into an old-fashioned knot on a whim).

It had been a productive sort of a Friday. The last time she'd had such a productive Friday had probably been when she was fifteen, she decided, when she was studying for her Cert.; today, though, she'd met with Pete's father and convinced him that it would be good for business if he ran a carpentry workshop at the village fair. The greengrocer and the butcher were collaborating to sell harvest hampers and raise money for the local school, and they had official permission to race on the river. A dreadfully productive Friday. She hoped that her evening would be distinctly more relaxing.

The rain and wind were picking up, and she quietly bemoaned her lack of an umbrella. By the time she arrived at the Golden Duck, she was going to look and feel positively bedraggled. Bother Pip for taking so long; he was supposed to have met her ten minutes ago. Hopefully, Tom would have a fire going when they got there. Gloomy and picturesque would not get the damp out of her bones.

"Hullo, Dot!"

She jumped. Pip had vaulted over the fence and suddenly appeared next to her. He grinned at her, and, with a sudden shudder, she realised she had been turning into her mother. Resolving to make no more silent complaint about the weather, she frowned at him. "You're late!"

"I know," he replied, not sounding remotely remorseful. "I found a den of thieves. Let's go; I'm starving."

They set off into the howling wind. "Finding a den of thieves is a perfectly valid reason to be late," Dot conceded. "Just don't still use it as an excuse when you're twenty; people don't seem to like it so much. Now, tell me about it?"

Pip had inherited the knack of storytelling from his mother, though it had completely passed Tom over. He walked backwards as he described, gesturing furiously, his den. The old smithy, as it turned out, had an abandoned room to which Pip had ascribed a positive bevy of thieves. Dot half-smiled to herself as she recognised almost all: the woman with the mysterious scar; the man with one blue eye and one green; a being who would be perfectly androgynous, save for a smattering of ginger stubble. There was a definite spark of originality in there, though: a spirited old landlady who rented the room to them, heard more than they intended, and wanted a cut; she hadn't heard that before, and almost encouraged him to write it down. The image reminded her a little of Mrs Barrable, albeit rogue. Before she could, the Golden Duck appeared through the rain. To Dot's relief, there was the unmistakable glow of a fire from within, and she quickened her pace.

When Tom opened the door, he was wearing an apron, and both his guests burst into laughter. He huffed slightly. Not an ideal way for the evening to start.

"You look like a housekeeper," Dot said through her giggles. "A veritable Nelly Dean."

"I don't know what that means." His reply was with surprising good grace, though he still blushed and removed the apron. "Welcome to the Golden Duck, anyway."

"Hovel," Pip corrected, but didn't press it.

"She's cosy." Dot walked directly to the fire and curled up on the rug in front of the flames. "I've found my seat for the evening." Pip took the largest of the easy chairs, folding both legs beneath him and suddenly looking even younger than his twelve years.

"Well, I don't have enough chairs, so you might just have to stay there." Tom aimed for a joke, but his tone was almost awkward, embarrassed, and Dot looked up at him in surprise.

"It's only me, Tom. You can ask me to sit on the floor if you like."

He came to sit next to her. "Sorry, Dot. Pip will sit on the floor, of course."

"That's perfectly all right. Frankly, you're the only person our age that I know who has even two chairs to his name-honestly earned, I mean, not won in a will."

This seemed to cheer Tom up a little bit, and he said that dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes.

"While we're waiting," Pip said, with a certain wickedness in his voice, "I think we should hear the story about you, Nurse Hazelwood and your first shift at the children's hospital."

Tom swivelled to face his brother, casting a sidewards glance at Dorothea. "I don't think that story's really fit for present company, Pip."

"Oh, but I'm not really squeamish," Dot said quickly. "I mean, not _really. _It sounds funny."

"Well, you can't say I didn't warn you. I hope it doesn't put you off your dinner." He frowned for a moment as he tried to remember the details. "As Pip says, I was working at a children's hospital in fifth year. In fifth year, the doctors more-or-less let students get on with the donkey work, like blood samples and, ahem, stool samples. I was working with Nurse Hazelwood, who was actually a cadet and not a registered nurse at all, and it was her first night shift there as well. Pretty girl, if I remember right; white uniform, of course, and blonde hair. Looked a little like the twins.

"There was a month-old boy who'd been brought in with possible cholera. Poor little chap had a terrible upset stomach. Anyway, Nurse Hazelwood had to change him and clean him up, but I wanted a stool sample to test for infection, so we went over to his cot. She took his nappy off, but to our surprise, it was clean. She lifted his ankles so that she could wipe him," (he mimed the action in case Dot, who was not especially familiar with babies, didn't understand), "when... I suppose the best way to put it is that he took aim and fired."

"All over the white uniform!" Dot exclaimed, through a horrified gasp.

"Absolutely _all_ over the white uniform. I remember it vividly. She should have been wearing an apron, but neither of us had ever cared for children before." He started to laugh. "She wiped him down as best she could with cotton wool, and handed it to me; the moment she opened her mouth to talk, though, she gagged and I ended up covered in something quite different." He started to laugh, though he wrinkled his nose at the memory. "I don't know who was more embarrassed."

"She was," Dot replied instantly. "Trust me."

"She never could look at me again." Tom sounded a little regretful; he had liked Nurse Hazelwood well enough.

"It was made worse," Pip added, "because Mama was still breastfeeding babby and she'd been eating curried eggs."

"I left that part out for a reason, Pip!"

"Do you want to be a hospital doctor or a Horning doctor?" Dot asked, completely oblivious to Tom's embarrassment.

"I haven't made my mind up yet; I still have to do quite a bit in the hospitals at Norwich and Yarmouth, but both types of practice have advantages and disadvantages." He jumped to his feet, suddenly changing the pace of the conversation. "Dinner should be ready. Hope you don't mind eating off your knees like savages."

"I have to say I rather like it."

_His house is completely lacking in amenities, but that rather adds to the atmosphere. I feel that an entire gang of smugglers could live there with no disruption to their picturesque, outlawed existence; I could almost see a gypsy woman with golden earrings beating a mat by the door. Please don't mistake me; it's very clean (for a boy), and Tom is a good cook, and all in all, it's really rather snug and pleasant. It just seems to me that it is a storybook cottage, and that is no bad thing._

_You wouldn't believe how big Pip has grown, Admiral. He's taller than his mother already, and he's only twelve. He will certainly be taller than Tom in very few years. It's funny; I do remember Pip being a baby, you know, and now he's only a head shorter than me. I suppose that makes me old, or at least older. He looks like Mrs Dudgeon, whereas Tom looks like his father. Mrs Dudgeon says that I should call her Deborah, but I can't really. It would be too strange. Despite that, though, I like it here. I've half a mind to get a boat of my own and live on her; that way, I could be in Horning half the year and the Lakes the other half (and London, with you, dear Admiral, the __other__ other half). Oh, I have too many homes. I suppose it's better than having none at all._

"The story," Dot began, waving her fork for emphasis, "begins during the Great War, with a girl whose childhood friend has just signed up. He has been an artist all his life, creating; now he is to be trained to destroy, and, she feels certain, become destroyed himself. Heartbroken, she signs up as well; she wants to be a Red Cross nurse, and follow him to the trenches. Protect him, though she knows she can't, from anyone and anything that might dare hurt him."

Tom gently removed Dot's fork, which had come dangerously close to his eye, and set it down by his own. "Yes?"

"Well, every day, of course, she simultaneously fears and longs to see him coming through the door of her ward, with trenchfoot and all manner of things, but _alive. _She dreams about it almost every night, you know." She took a quick gulp of tea, and continued. "Her loyalty is astounding. Every day, as she treats infections and lice and stoically loves each one of the men like a brother, she misses him. The very little she hears of him at first dwindles to nothing after a year, and she carries on at the trenches anyway, hoping and praying. In the third year (which is actually to be the last of the war, though she doesn't know it), though, everything gets more complicated."

"The hospital doctor," Pip suggested sleepily.

"Doctors always get to have the glamour in stories like this," Dot objected. "I'd rather it were a timid chaplain; a very prosaic and unprepossessing man; a hero of quiet causes. And thus begins the working of the inevitable triangle." She bit her lip thoughtfully. "What do you think?"

"You've never written a romance before, have you?" Tom asked, diplomatically, thinking that it all sounded rather implausible.

"Not since I was about twelve." She blushed. "And they were _utterly _awful, so I rather think they don't count."

"I like the sound of the main character," he offered. "Made of very stern stuff, I suppose."

A little quirk of her lips. "Not really; circumstances have pushed her to be that way, that's all."

"I can't picture it," Tom admitted, "but you're the one with the imagination. I shall just have to wait until it's written."

Dot, who had insisted on staying in front of the fire, uncurled so that she was almost prone, ankles peeping out from her pseudo-Victorian skirt. She propped herself up on her elbows. "Pip's asleep; I must be boring. I think this calls for a change of subject. Scrabble, maybe."

Tom, who had long since abandoned his seat for the floor, raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I am the Dudgeon family champion, you know."

She accepted the challenge with a rare smirk. "Really? Well, I think it's time somebody did something about that!"

The fire burnt low and red, a great deal of strong tea was consumed on both sides, and three long, long games were played; eventually, though, Tom admitted defeat. Dot had won the first by a whisker, lost the second by a mile, and had eventually soundly beaten him in the final round with a well-placed_ tumbling._ Pip had woken and played the first round, but was now snoring unapologetically in his chair, and Dot laughed.

"I dread to think what time it is. I'm afraid I get a little competitive," she said softly, not wanting to wake him.

"I'd noticed." He checked his watch. "Oh gosh. It's one in the morning, Dot; I've got to get up in a few hours! You and Pip had better go home; let me just get my coat."

"We can walk ourselves, Tom." He looked about to protest, but she cut him off. "It's _Horning_, Tom, not Edinburgh and not London."

"I suppose so. Gosh, I could just sleep right here." He stretched for a moment, muscles making creaky complaints at having lain so still for so long, and then leapt up. He gave Dot a hand to her feet. "At least let me give you a torch."

"I've got one with me," she assured him. "We won't be drowned dead, no fear!"

It was his turn to laugh at her, the broad Norfolk very badly imitated and sounding strange from her mouth. He took upon himself the task of shaking Pip awake. His brother woke with startling suddenness. "Time to go home." Pip, who had been very asleep indeed, only frowned at him, disorientated. Tom hauled him to his feet and slipped his brother's hand into Dot's. "Don't fall in the river, young turmot," he advised. "I don't want to have Dot back here in five minutes saying that you ran off and all she heard was a splash."

They were out of the door in a few more moments, a bleary-eyed Pip blinking at Dot in confusion and clinging to her hand. (Despite Dot's admonishment, Tom still watched them safely down the path). He stared at the glowing embers for several moments before turning in for the night.

* * *

_Everybody's got opinions, girl;_

_They're a version of a good idea_

_But the best one I can think of now _

_Is to make sure that I keep you near._

* * *

**A/N:**

_.org/wiki/Duck_(cricket)_

_Title & 1__st__ set of lyrics taken from Bring on the Wonder by Susan Enan feat Sarah McLachan. 2__nd__ set of lyrics taken from 10/10 by Paolo Nutini, whose music always seems very Ransome-y to me. _

_Nelly Dean is the housekeeper who narrates most of _Wuthering Heights. _If you haven't read it, why are you wasting your time with me? Get thee straight to the nearest library! _

_Staff Nurse Hazelwood is my Mary Sue. In my defence, she's only there briefly and she's hardly dignified. _

_I don't think I have anything else to say. See you all next chapter?_


End file.
